Turning Tables: Season Four
by Princess Pinky
Summary: As Adrian and Ben grapple with living together and Grace faces the trial against Grant, how would season four have been different?
1. When One Heart Opens

**A/N: **You know, I intended to get this out days after I ended season three, and I don't know what happened. Life, I guess. So sorry, everyone!

_**Turning Tables**_

**When One Heart Opens**

With only one day left before Christmas, the church looked like a holiday bomb had exploded. Gold garland garnished the pulpit, while strands of silver garland flanked the backs of the pews and on either end of each pew were large bouquets of poinsettias. Just off to the right of the church organ was a seven foot Douglas fir Christmas tree. The latter was decked tip to trunk in tinsel, _101 Dalmatians_ McDonald's happy meal dogs that had been strung with embroidery thread, shiny metal bobbles in every color of the rainbow, plenty of handmade decorations in shapes of crookedly cut stars and macaroni hearts made by the children in Sunday school, and topped with a serene Christmas angel – this year it was a Latina angel, as the church had several and rotated them every year to be ethnically inclusive – whose wings lit in time with the blinking of the lights.

The new reverend was speaking – _new_ being debatable, since he'd been at the church for over six months now, yet he still felt like a diet replacement for Reverend Stone – but he was a dull background noise to Grace Bowman's thoughts, which were currently on her son. She felt guilty for being at church when he was all alone in the hospital, still in critical condition just the same as he had been since his birth ten days earlier. He'd actually worsened within the first three days that he'd been in the NICU, but he'd evened out and had neither improved nor worsened in the week that had followed.

Grace had been allowed to leave after three days in the hospital and for the first week following the birth, she'd been sentenced to Percocet for the pain and had been gradually trying to wean herself off them and onto Ibuprofen except for during the night, so she wouldn't be too wiped out on painkillers over the holiday. She'd also spent exorbitant amounts of time either in the NICU, watching her son from behind the shield of an incubator. This had gone on for so long that both Dr. Ottavi and her mother had come together and insisted she spend some time resting in her own bed, with the promise that Dr. Ottavi would call if there was any change in the newborn's condition.

"…and lastly, I would like us all to take a moment to pray for the safe and speedy recovery of Miss Bowman's little boy."

Kathleen Bowman touched her daughter's shoulder, distracting the seventeen-year-old from her plaguing guilt.

Grace closed her eyes and bowed her head, imagining her little boy's still body in her mind's eye. It was difficult for her to be at church for a special pre-Christmas sermons that her mother had been dragging her to all week, let alone praying to the God who had allowed so much pain to befall her young life. First her father, then Grant, and now her son all in the space of a year-and-a-half period. She thought her faith had been tested before, but with death looming over a second member of her family – one she hadn't even gotten to know – she couldn't bring herself to ask God for help again, because as far as she was concerned, He was no longer listening.

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"So I guess you paid the electric bill."

"Yeah, didn't I tell you that? I'm sure I told you that," Ben Boykewich said, squinting as though he wasn't as sure as he wanted to be. "But maybe with everything that's happened this week–"

"You _did_ tell me," Adrian Lee interrupted. "But what you failed to mention was that it doubled since last month. Last month which was twenty bucks more than the month before that!"

"I'm sorry."

"You're sorry? Really, Ben? You're so sorry that you were going to tell me when, exactly?"

Ben wilted like a tulip left in a hot car. "The first time was an accident. I lost the bill, so I just sent the same amount from the bill before. They contacted me after and said I'd underpaid and it was only by twenty dollars, so it didn't seem like something big enough to stress you out about so I just paid it."

"And the second time?"

"I didn't know how to tell you. I knew you'd be upset."

"And you'd be right! I can't believe I had to find out by calling the electric company because I thought this month's bill hadn't arrived at all. You can't hide things like this from me! Ben, we're living together, we're supposed to be a team. How can we be a team if you're keeping secrets from me?"

"I'm sorry," he repeated guiltily.

Adrian rubbed her head exasperatedly. "What are we going to do about this?" she asked, not truly expecting an answer.

"I guess we'll need to work at keeping the heat down, turning the lights off, and not falling asleep with the TV on." Ben came to sit down on the couch beside his girlfriend. "It's going to be fine, Adrian. I know it's a hundred dollars, but I can just take it out of my savings. As long as this doesn't become the norm, it'll be okay."

"But it's not! Ben, if I'd known we had an extra hundred dollars to pay in electricity this month, I would've done our Christmas shopping differently. I wouldn't have splurged, I would've bought less expensive gifts. You should've told me."

"I know. I see that now and I don't know what else I can say. I really am sorry, Adrian. You know I'm still new to this budget thing. I wasn't trying to hurt you, I just – I just screwed up. That's all I can say."

"I guess it is." Adrian pressed her palms to the edge of the couch cushion and pushed herself into a standing position. "Look, I was going to pick up Heather and we were going to drop by Grace's to see how she's doing, so can you keep Mercy? The last thing Grace needs is a baby running around her room."

"Sure," Ben nodded, feeling like their previous conversation was still unfinished. "Give her my best."

"I will."

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"How's Palm Springs?" Ricky Underwood asked, watching one of his best friends, Ashley Juergens, from the monitor on his laptop.

"Warmer than Valley Glen," Ashley replied with a grin.

"And what about your grandmother?"

"She keeps asking Amy when she dyed her hair."

"What?"

"She thinks Amy's my mom."

Ricky nodded. "Awkward."

"Eugene is doing better though," she said, referring to her grandmother's husband. "His hip healed up better than the doctors expected after his fall back in May, but it still hurts him when there's cold weather. He says he's a weather rod now because he can predict when a storm's coming in. Eugene seems to think that now that he's back on his feet, he can continue taking care of Mimsy full time again, but my mom has her doubts."

"What's she gonna do?"

Ashley shrugged on screen, then there was a shout in the background but it was impossible to tell who the voice belonged to. She turned her head away from the screen, then back again with a scowl. "I gotta go," she sighed. "Talk to you tonight?"

"Catch ya later, Ash." When the screen went black, Ricky reached up to turn off his webcam. Soon after there was a knock at his door. "It's unlocked!"

Margaret Shakur descended the stairs. "I wanted to talk to you about Heather's Christmas present."

"You mean the lack of present?" Ricky grunted. "I feel really bad that you already paid for it and now we can't even take her. Don't get me wrong, I'm not trying to blame this on Grace, it just sucks. Everything about this last week-and-a-half sucks."

"Actually," Margaret winked, "I managed to pull a few strings."

Ricky lifted a curious brow. "Seriously?"

"I guess there is some magic left in the season, because a message was left on my phone yesterday. We're being given the option to reschedule, so what do you think?"

Ricky picked up his cell phone to consult his calendar. "Heather's birthday isn't until May and Spring Break doesn't happen until April." He mulled over the months. "There aren't any major breaks between now and the end of the school year. There's Martin Luther King Day on the seventeenth, but that might be too soon. Grant's trial starts this month."

"Presidents' Day is a three day weekend," Margaret suggested.

"Third week of February," Ricky nodded. "It's not as good as a full week–"

"But better than nothing."

"You want to book it?"

"After I confirm it with your father," Margaret nodded.

Ricky made an electronic note in his calendar and set aside his phone. "She's going to freak. I just hope she likes her replacement gift until we can spring this on her."

Margaret rested her hand on his knee. "I trust she will."

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"Going somewhere?" Adrian asked, her heels rooted in the middle of the former Bowman guest house while her head rotated a near three-hundred-sixty degrees as she watched her best friend scurry around the room.

"You know perfectly well the answer to that," Grace remarked.

Adrian finally uprooted herself and cornered Grace as the blonde pulled a protein shake out of the fridge. "Grace. Come on, this isn't good for you and you know it."

"So you're telling me I shouldn't go and see him at the hospital?" Grace snapped.

"I'm not saying that, but look at what it's doing to you. This is why your mom and Dr. Ottavi told you to go home and rest. You're wearing yourself down to nub."

Grace slammed the refrigerator door and tossed the vanilla protein shake into her backpack, which already contained various books, snack foods, a few sharpened pencils, notebook paper, and her pain medications. "Can you look me in the eyes and tell me you wouldn't be offended right now if it was Mercy in critical condition and I was standing here telling you not to go be with her?"

Adrian deflated in a single breath and stepped back to allow Grace to continue packing. "Still no change?" she asked quietly.

"No," Grace said in a whisper. She zipped up her backpack and threw it over her shoulders.

"At least let me give you a ride so you don't have to take the bus," Adrian said, knowing that Grace shouldn't be driving because of her stitches and medications.

Grace withered under her friend's insistence. "Fine." But she didn't wait for Adrian, she just beelined right out the door and waited at the red convertible until the Latina finally got close—presumably after locking up and setting the alarm—enough for her alarm remote to unlock the electric doors. She climbed inside and winced as she pulled the seatbelt around her aching stomach. When Adrian got in, Grace turned her face to the window and stared at the road as they drove. She was thankful when Adrian didn't turn on the radio, because the only thing that seemed to be on _every_ channel was Christmas music, but this year she couldn't stand it. The fact that "Silent Night" got played at least five times on every station, every day, was the worst.

"You can just pull up to the doors," Grace said, motioning her hand when Adrian finally turned into the hospital parking lot. "They only allow family into the NICU anyway. And even at that, they don't allow us to spend the night," she added bitterly. The blonde pushed the door open even before the car had completely stopped and got out without a goodbye.

"What time do you want me to—"

Grace cut her off: "I'll call my mom."

Adrian nodded. "Okay. I – I hope he's doing better."

"Yeah," Grace muttered before shutting the door and heading through the electronic doors. She made it up to the elevator, only to be flagged down by Jason Treacy. Her silver eyes nearly bugged out of her head when she saw him. "_Jason! _Wh – what are you doing here?"

"Waiting for you," he smiled and then instinctively moved in for a hug, but stopped himself. "Is a hug okay?" he asked.

Grace felt her eyes grow hot as she contemplated his question. "I – I think so," she said, unsure. She let him wrap his arms around her, holding her like a priceless museum piece. Tentatively, she slid her arms around him in return, instantly breathing in the cologne he wore on their first official date. She shuddered and pulled away.

"I'm sorry," Jason said. "Did I–"

"The stitches," she lied. "They're sensitive."

Jason nodded. "Right. Sorry." He accompanied her to the elevator.

"How did you know I'd be here?"

"I was visiting my dad and I thought I might drop by to see you, but when I called your mom said you'd already left for the hospital. I haven't been here long, but I was hanging by the front desk so I would see you when you walked in." Jason laughed. "You walked by so fast you didn't even notice me."

Grace stepped into the elevator behind him and pressed the button for her floor. "I just try to get in and out as fast as I can. Nobody wants to be here if they don't have to be, right?"

Jason nodded. "Unless you want to be a doctor."

Grace smiled sadly. "Or that." She scuffed her heels together until the doors opened. "I'm sorry, but the NICU doesn't allow non-family."

Jason stepped out with her. "I know the drill, I've already been up here and turned away. I just wanted to see you…and see how everything was going. I've been meaning to catch you all week, but with the holidays and everything…How is he?" He rolled his eyes. "I say 'he,' but I'm sure he has a name—"

"Actually," Grace said slowly, "he doesn't. Not yet. I know. That must make me a terrible mother from the outset, but right now he's just 'Baby Bowman,' at least according to his wrist bracelet. It's been ten days and I just…I thought about naming him after my dad, but what if I do and then it's bad karma?" Grace shook her head. "I don't know. I just don't even know anymore."

Jason instinctively wrapped his hand around Grace's. "Taking the time to make a good decision doesn't make you a bad mom."

The truth was not so much the decision, but the reality that such a decision would have: she was already attached to her son, there was no denying that, but she couldn't bear the thought of giving a name to that attachment, only to end up carving that name into a headstone shortly thereafter. But Grace didn't want to explain that anyone yet, least of all in the middle of a hospital hallway, so she tugged her hand away and tried to smile. "Thanks. And there's been no change, not since the sixteenth."

Jason nodded. "I'll keep him in my prayers."

"Thank you." Grace fidgeted with the straps of her backpack. "I should get in there."

"Yeah. Tell him I said 'hi.'"

Grace cracked a tiny smile. "I will."

"See you, Grace."

"See you, Jason."

Grace watched him climb back into the elevator and wave as the doors shut. She waited another minute until someone came up and pressed the down arrow, then she buzzed the NICU door, announced herself, and waited until the door clicked to allow her admittance a few moments following. She tried to tunnel her vision, ignoring the other mothers and babies in the NICU, and eventually reached her son's incubator and sat down in a chair beside him.

He looked like a giant compared to most of the other babies in the NICU, many of whom had been born premature. He had a thicket of golden hair atop his head and wore a diaper adorned with little pink and blue monkeys. His bare skin, however, had a yellowish hue that made Grace wish she could just reach inside and bathe him until he was a healthy pink. But the breathing tubes stuck to his mouth with several strips of white medical tape and all the wires connecting to his chest made that impossible.

"Hello, Handsome," Grace whispered as she leaned over to the plastic wall. She saw her breath fog up a circle of plastic and waited until it disappeared. "It's Mommy. Can you hear me? I'm waiting for you to get better, Young Man." Grace sniffed and dug into the front pocket of her backpack, searching for a packet of tissues that was nearly out. She wiped her running nose, dabbed her eyes, then pressed the tips of her fingers to the incubator. "It's time to get better…" She wanted to finish that sentence, but instead her eyes saw the translucent blue band on her son's wrist: _Baby Bowman_.

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"Something wrong?" Ben asked, pacing back and forth down the hallway. He was on his cell phone and he could hear the faint hum of music from Mercy's room.

"I'd rather not talk about it over the phone," Amy Juergens's voice answered back.

"Fair enough." Ben stopped at Mercy's closed door when he heard the music run out and leaned his ear close to listen. Silence. He carefully walked out of the hallway and into the living room. "How's vacation?"

"It's not really vacation. Everyone's took high strung right now."

Ben chuckled. "In other words, you and your mom?"

"Ha ha."

"I'll take that as a 'yes.'" He heard her snort, but she didn't contradict him.

"Anyway, how about you?"

Ben flung himself back against the cushions. That was something he didn't want to talk about over the phone. Or at all. "Same old, same old. Adrian went to work after she stopped over to see Grace so she won't be home for a while and I just put Mercy down for a nap before I called you."

"Isn't today a Thursday?"

"Yes. Why?"

"I thought you worked Thursdays?"

"It's the twenty-third. My dad gives everyone the twenty-third through the twenty-sixth off every year and runs the shop himself on the day before Christmas Eve and the day after Christmas unless they want to work for overtime."

"And you _didn't _want to overtime?"

"It's cheaper to stay home with Merce instead of paying the nanny to, because Adrian has to work."

"Oh, yeah. Stanley's a pig like that."

"Yeah." Ben paused and scratched his chin. "Wait, how did you know about Stanley?" He thought he heard an intake of breath on the other end of the line, but he couldn't be sure.

"Grace told me."

"Grace?"

"Yeah, you know. Grace said that's what Adrian told to her."

This time Ben scratched his head. Something felt off about the explanation, but Grace was friends with both Adrian and Amy, so it seemed plausible. "He's a real piece of work," he finally agreed.

"So I've heard. Uh, hey, Ben, sorry, but I have to get going, dinner's nearly ready. I'll talk to you later, 'kay?"

"Tell everyone I said 'hello.'"

"I will. Bye!"

Ben heard the phone disconnect before he even got the chance to reciprocate. He frowned and set his phone on to the coffee table. With Mercy taking a nap, Adrian at work, and Henry having dinner over at Alice's, he had nothing to do. He considered surfing the web, but it didn't appeal, and he'd already tried television, but nothing good was on. He strummed his fingers on the armrest before getting up and heading to the kitchen to see if there was anything he might be able to try his hand at fixing up before Adrian got home.

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"Ten minutes to Christmas Eve," Heather said as Ricky walked into the kitchen and caught her trying to open a bottle of sparkling apple cider with a bottle opener.

"You know those screw off, don't you?"

"Yes, but they like to cut me." She managed to finish prying off the metal top and tossed it into the recycling bin. "Who bought this stuff anyway?" she asked, pouring a large wine glass full of the translucent yellow liquid. "It looks like bubbly pee and it tastes terrible."

Ricky pulled out a coffee mug and wiggled his fingers, motioning for her to pass it to him. "It was a gift from one of Dad's patients. The guy sends it every year because Dad always makes the mistake of sending him an overly gracious thank you card."

"The only apple cider worth buying is Martinelli's and this ain't it."

"It's sugar free," Ricky said grimly. He pressed the mug to his lips and his Adam's apple bobbed until the mug was empty.

"Then why are you drinking it?"

"Why are _you_?" Ricky challenged as he filled his glass again.

"I'm taking one for the team. You don't really want to drink this stuff with Christmas dinner, do you?" Heather polished off the glass and took the half empty bottle from Ricky to refill her glass.

Ricky snorted.

"What?"

"It's funny, because usually I'm the one who does this."

"Get out."

"Seriously! The first year we got it, Mom opened it for Christmas dinner and refused to open another one until it was gone. You'd think eating it with the other food might wash out the taste in your mouth, but no."

Heather shook her head. "Yeah, my dad bought a bunch of these on clearance after New Year's once. I thought we'd never be rid of them! We tried them with everything. I realized they're best on an empty stomach, before you get a chance to remember what something good tastes like."

Ricky nodded and refilled his mug. As he lifted the glass to his mouth, he let out a belch and heard Heather snicker, then break into a laugh until Heather belched too, putting his to shame. He calmed himself down. "We're laughing at belching. Are we really this juvenile?"

"Maybe, maybe not. Are we sure this stuff is non-alcoholic?"

Ricky laughed again, felt the pressure bubbles rising in his chest, and washed them down with another bitter drink.

Heather turned over the empty bottle and watched as a few stray beads of cider dribbled off the rim of the bottle. She then rinsed it out and dropped it into the recycle. "You can't tell me it's not fun to be a little juvenile sometimes."

"Nope, I cannot."

"Sometimes it's easier to be a juvenile and laugh at dick and fart jokes and belching whatever else juveniles do. Sometimes it's better than being an adult."

"You're not an adult."

"Technicality."

"_Touché."_ Ricky collected his empty mug and her empty glass and began to wash them out in the sink. All of the sudden he hiccupped. A few minutes later, he hiccupped again. "Shit."

"You sound like my first bike horn."

"Shove it."

Heather grabbed the mug from his, finished rinsing it out herself, then poured an obscene amount of sugar into it and filled it partially with water. Using a spoon from the drainer she mixed it into a cloudy swirl and handed it back to Ricky. "Drink."

"Wh – _uh_ – ut?" he asked, interrupted mid-word by another hiccup.

"Sugar water, it'll cure them, trust me."

"That's disg – _uh_ – _uh _– sting."

"It's kool-aid without the flavoring, now quit bellyaching if you want to get rid of those hiccups."

Ricky pinched his nose and downed the sugar water. Moments later he began to rinse out the cup as he waited for the hiccups to return, but they didn't. He chanced a glance at the redhead and sure enough, she looked as smug as Sherlock Holmes upon solving a mystery.

"Old trick my grandmother taught me."

"She sounds like someone I would have liked."

"You bet your ass she was. Best grandmother _e-ver_."

The clock from the dining room began to chime and Ricky looked in the direction of the sound, even though he couldn't see the clock from his vantage point. "Sounds like it's officially Christmas Eve."

"Sounds like." Heather put her hands on her hips. "So now what? We go creep into the living room and tear open our presents?"

"My foster brother did that the first year he was here. Never again."

"Ethan?"

"Yep. We have a policy: we only get to open one Christmas Eve gift, but the whole family has to be present."

"Pun intended?"

"Yes…Dad came up with it, he thinks it's very clever."

"I won't be the one responsible for making him the wiser."

"Thank you."

Heather grinned. "But seriously, I'm bored and I can't sleep."

"We could go rattle the boxes and take bets on what's inside."

Heather narrowed her eyes. "That's juvenile." Then her mouth curved into a Cheshire grin. "Race you to the living room!" She shoved a chair in front of him and took off.

"Cheater!"

"No, _juvenile!_"

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

The first thing Adrian noticed when she trudged through the door after work was the smell of something burnt. When she walked into the kitchen, she realized the top of the trash was covered with blackened cookies and lying on a cooling rack near the microwave was a tray of overly browned, though not black, sugar cookies.

The Latina picked one up and bit into it, but immediately wished she hadn't: hard and tasteless. She spat it into the sink, rinsed it down with the faucet, and tossed the rest of the cookie into the trash on top of the burnt ones. She sighed heavily and made her way down the hall, stopping momentarily to peek into her daughter's room where Mercy Lee was sleeping peacefully. She got the door shut again without incident and entered the darkened bedroom she shared with Ben, currently lit only by the nightlight.

Adrian dropped her purse on her nightstand, stripped off the sweaty work uniform that was covered in ice cream stains, slipped into a pair of Happy Bunny pajama bottoms and an old long sleeved shirt, and climbed into bed. It was lukewarm, which suggested Ben had been there recently, before he eventually rolled over to the side on which he was currently fast asleep. She shivered as she closed her eyes, tired as hell, but unable to get to sleep.


	2. Another One Discloses

**A/N: **I had to work this in between two major writing assignments and two group presentations, but here it is!

_**Turning Tables**_

**Another One Discloses**

"If there was ever a time for a Christmas miracle, it would be now."

"I know, Kathleen, I know."

Grace stood just outside the kitchen, eavesdropping on her mother's conversation with George Juergens. She felt her heart swell as she heard the muffled sounds of George comforting her mother and then her thoughts turned to her son; they couldn't stop turning to him. She tiptoed into the living room, where the Christmas tree was set up, complete with her father's Christmas angel. She spotted one of the branches move and curiously walked around the tree to find Tom Bowman crouched down amongst the presents. "Tom?" she asked suspiciously. "What are you doing down there?"

Tom crawled out from under the tree with a couple of strands of tinsel hanging off his head and a yellow notepad in his lap. It had the names of all the household members, including Moose, on it and there were tallies under each name. "I'ventry," he announced smugly.

"What do you need to take inventory for?"

"To fin' out how many presents I have," he replied, rolling his eyes.

It was so Tom that she almost laughed. "That's silly, Tom. You're not supposed to take note of how many gifts people give you unless you're planning to send thank you cards."

"May'e I am."

"Mhmm," Grace murmured doubtfully.

"You shoul' take him a presen'," Tom said.

"Who?"

"My nephew."

Grace hugged herself. "He's too young for presents. Except maybe clothes and he can't wear those in the hospital anyway."

"Nobody too young for presents," the brunette argued.

But Grace turned away, not wanting to debate the subject. Even the fact that she'd had to ask _who_ made her feel guilty to the point of sickness. She ambled into the kitchen and instantly noted the silence that befell the conversation she had previously been listening to.

"Good morning, sweetie," Kathleen said as cheerfully as she could. "I'm making a bread pudding for breakfast. Almost done. I hope you're hungry!"

"Happy Christmas Eve," George offered, trying to mimic his girlfriend's enthusiasm.

"Today's happy?" she asked rhetorically. "Tomorrow? This whole week? That's an oxymoron if I've ever heard one."

"I didn't mean–"

"I know what you meant, George." Grace pushed up from the table. "Enjoy your bread pudding. I'm going to catch a bus to the hospital. I'll eat there."

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"Don't I get to choose my own gift?" Heather asked as she stared at the thin computer sheet sized package in front of her, wrapped in paper that was decorated in clumps of reindeer, with Rudolph most prominently featured.

Ricky shrugged his shoulders and went over to sit down on the couch beside Margaret Shakur. "It's your party."

"And I'll snub if I want to." Heather picked up the gift, weighed it between her hands, and slid it back under the tree with a devilish grin. "Sorry, Rick, I'm gonna make you wait until tomorrow." She crawled around the tree skirt twice, then picked up birdcage sized box in green foil wrapping, tore it off, and screeched like a pterodactyl. She jumped up and ran to Margaret and Sanjay Shakur, hugging them feverishly and squealing as though she was reading a very good fanfiction. "Thankyouthankyouthankyou!"

Ricky snorted.

"You're just jealous," she said, turning to him and sticking out her tongue. "You picked the wrong gift." She shot an amused look at the gag gift she'd gotten Ricky: a Rudolph Snuggie, complete with an attachable red nose. As a matter of fact, it may have been part of the reason she'd chosen not to open his gift, for fear it might also be a gag.

Ricky leaned forward as Heather returned to the floor and began to tear open the box of her new Wii.

"Don't worry, Ricky," Margaret smiled. "It's got two controllers."

Ricky promptly sat back, pretending to be disinterested. "Why should I care?"

Heather held up the dual controllers like Academy Awards. "Wii Rock Band." She tossed a controller into his lap. "You on?"

Ricky picked up the controller and acted as if he were hitting an invisible drum set. "Sure you wanna go there, Red?"

Heather used her controller to bat the detachable red nose from the table into Ricky's lap. "A little less talk and a lot more action, Rudolph."

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"Hey, Mom, it's me again. I know I usually come on Christmas," Ben said, bowing his head. "But like I said last year, I've got a family that I have to spend Christmas Day with now, so I hope you aren't too upset. Going to the cemetery on Christmas Day is a little dreary, don't you think?"

Ben kicked the brakes on his daughter's stroller and rounded it. "But I did follow through with the promise I made you last year," he said, pulling up the cover and heaving Mercy out of her seat. He balanced his little girl on his hip and pointed to their reflections in the polished granite of his mother's headstone. "It's not just a picture this time, she's the real deal. Mom, this is your granddaughter: this is Mercy. Mercy," he said, motioning to the Earth beneath the stone, "this is your grandmother."

"_Lita?"_ Mercy asked.

"Yes," Ben nodded. "_Abuelita_ Sarah." He kissed the little girl on her forehead. "But you could always say _Nonna_ or Grandma too you know."

"_Lita,"_ Mercy happily cooed.

Ben set his daughter onto the hay colored grass and pulled a bag out from the back of the stroller. He opened it and took out a leafy poinsettia as bright as maraschinos. Then he knelt down beside his daughter, sat her into his lap, and placed the poinsettia into her lap. Ben guided Mercy's hands to the base of the plant and helped her lift it up and set it at the base of the headstone. "See, Mercy? This is what Daddy leaves for Grandma every Christmas."

Mercy curiously touched one of the red leaves, her coffee eyes drinking in the lush color.

"Do you like it?"

Mercy squealed.

Ben kissed the back of his little girl's black head. "Do you want to come back to leave one with Daddy next year?"

Mercy clapped her chubby palms together making a sound like pizza dough falling against a wooden cutting board.

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

Adrian jumped at the sound of knuckles on glass, causing her to drop the book she was reading against the horn which promptly went off.

On the other side of the car window Cindy Lee jumped herself, accidentally slapping her hand against the window and snapping one of her manicured nail tips off. She flexed her fingers, examining the damage, and reflexively began to rub the broken nail with the pad of her thumb until her daughter opened the car door.

"_¡__Tienes miedo a la mierda de mí__!"_

"_¡Lo siento! ¡Lo siento!"_ Cindy said, motioning her hands downward like she was patting an overly fluffy comforter. "What are you doing out here? I thought you said you and Ben weren't bringing Mercy over for another half hour?" She suddenly looked across Adrian into the passenger seat, then craned her neck to peer into the backseat since the top on Adrian's convertible was down. "Wait, where _are_ Ben and Mercy?"

Adrian frowned. "Not here yet."

Cindy placed her hands on her hips. "You were bringing her over in two separate cars?"

"Well…" Adrian swallowed thickly. "…I have to work. I told you that."

"Yes," Cindy agreed dubiously. "But you also said that today's only a partial day because it's Christmas Eve, so I see no reason to waste the gas coming here in two separate cars when you don't have to."

Adrian turned her head away. "Can we not do this, please? I didn't even really want to come over. I agreed to Christmas Eve breakfast because you said you'd make your special White Christmas _Horchata _and Mercy loves your _horchata_."

"Did you and Ben have a fight?" Cindy asked knowingly.

"No."

Cindy touched her daughter's shoulder. "Why don't you come inside?" she asked softly. "That _horchata_'s almost done."

"Mom…"

"_Chica_…please."

Adrian bowed her head, allowing her resolve to disappear. She pushed out of her seat and shut the door, allowing her mother to wrap an arm around her shoulders and lead her into the apartment they had shared until just a couple months ago.

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"Any change?" Grace asked as she approached behind the nurse at her son's incubator.

"I'm sorry," the nurse sighed.

Grace slunk into the chair beside her little boy. No matter how hard she tried to steel herself against the news, it always managed to corrode through her emotional armor. She leaned forward and pressed her forehead to the plastic, watching her son's chest slowly rising and falling. She craved to press her palm against it and feel his satin skin and tiny heartbeat.

"He hasn't gotten worse, that's a good sign," the nurse said, attempting to make her feel better.

"Small blessings," Grace replied acidly. She reached down to unzip her backpack and thrust her hand inside without looking. She was searching for a book to read to her baby when her fingers came across something else, something entirely unexpected. Her blonde brows creased and she latched onto the foreign object and pulled it out: her father's Christmas angel.

"Oh," the nurse smiled, "did you bring that for him?"

Grace stared at the angel in confusion. "I–" She closed her mouth, thinking back to her earlier encounter with her brother at the Christmas tree. "His uncle sent it," she finally said.

"That's sweet," the nurse said, smiling again. She looked fondly at the sleeping baby. "Sounds like you've got a very loving uncle, little angel."

Grace grit her teeth. She didn't want to hear her son referred to as an angel because he _wasn't_ an angel, not yet at least, and hopefully he'd_ never_ have the chance to be for a very long time. She waited until the nurse had left and then she stuffed the angel right back into her backpack, exchanging it for the book she'd been looking for in the first place.

She held the book up to the side of the incubator, revealing the faded face of Santa Claus on yellowed paper with dog-eared edges showing the soft cardboard material underneath them. The title read: _A Letter from Santa Claus_. "Your grandpa used to read this to Uncle Tom and I when we were little," she smiled. "He said his daddy used to read it to him and his brother growing up too. I bet you didn't know Mark Twain wrote this for his daughter when she was sick." She set the book into her lap and opened the frail cover, turning cautiously to the front page. "'My Dear Susy Clemens…'"

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"Beware, he's grumpy because I just kicked his ass three times in a row on Wii Rock Band," Heather singsonged over Ricky's shoulder.

Ashley smirked and held up her hand.

Heather air high fived in the direction of the computer screen.

"Go gloat in your own room," Ricky mock scowled.

"Sore loser." Heather flicked him on the nose. "Tell me how you love the Snuggie!"

Ricky rolled his eyes and waited for her to leave, then he shut and locked his bedroom door.

"So, I take it she didn't open the gift you were hoping?"

"Not a chance."

Ashley smirked. "You owe me ten bucks."

"Come home early and I'll pay you twenty."

"Okay, but if I get pulled over for not having a valid license it's on you."

Ricky grinned. "Is being forced to spend time with your family that bad?"

"Eugene's not too bad, but you know how it is with my mom and Amy. It's always been them against…"

Ricky nodded. "Maybe you should at least call your dad."

Ashley shot a look through the screen that made him involuntarily glance at the vents just to make sure they weren't smoking.

"Or a postcard?" he amended.

"I know you and my dad are pretty chummy because he gave you that summer job but–"

"We're not 'chummy' but your dad is an all right guy."

"Evidently your dictionary defines 'all right' quite differently than mine."

"You can't stay mad at him forever for being with Kathleen. He was married to her first. There's probably a reason they were married before he married your mom."

"And a reason they got divorced."

"True, but you don't know their whole situation. You being so mad at him is probably hurting him as much as it's hurting you."

"He didn't have to get Grace the dog."

Ricky nodded. "Fair enough."

"Moose should've been mine. He knows I've wanted a dog since I could talk. First he moves in with them and then he gets her the dog. I was getting around to the point where I could forgive him for cheating on my mom, but then he went and cheated on me."

Ricky leaned forward, getting as close to the webcam as he could without blacking it out. "You agree that your mom's never been a dog person, right?"

"Yes."

"And that she would have never let you have a dog."

"Yes."

"And that even if she was a dog person, she couldn't afford one anyway?"

"_Yes?"_ Ashley asked, clearly becoming agitated.

"So, did you ever think that maybe, in his own way, he was giving you what you wanted without burdening your mom? He did try to invite you over to see Moose and you wouldn't go inside." At her huff he continued, "Plus, think of Grace: a dog provides a level of protection, right? That's what a lot of people get dogs for."

"She's got a brand new security system."

"Not very personal, is it?"

Ashley's head turned away from the screen.

"Call him," Ricky urged. "It's Christmas."

"Eve," Ashley grumbled. "Are_ you_ calling _your _parent?"

"She's coming over for Christmas dinner tomorrow night."

Ashley sighed. "I – I don't know," she huffed. "Anyway, I have to go."

"Liar."

"I'll talk to you later."

Ricky waved before the link disconnected. He kicked his wheeled chair back and spun around a few times until the room was spinning while he was sitting still.

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"…it's your first fight after moving in together. These things happen, Adrian. I tried to warn you–"

"You don't need to bust out the 'I told you so.' And it doesn't apply anyway, it's just a stupid misunderstanding."

"About _money_," Cindy said. "Do you have any idea how much a stresser money – and the lack thereof – is on relationships?"

"We'll work through it. And it wasn't so much an 'argument' as it was me angry that he didn't tell what was going on."

"Did you know that communication problems are the leading cause of divorce?"

"Where did you hear that?" Adrian scowled. "_Seventeen_?"

"The radio. They have a website, I can go find the statistics–"

"No need," Adrian said, raising her hand when her mother made a move to stand. "We're not even married, so it's not applicable anyway."

"I very much doubt that. You're living together with a toddler. You may not have the ring or the certificate, but it's still very much the same type of relationship."

"Hardly. Everything changes when you get married, I'm sure there are studied on _that_." The teenager rolled her dark eyes. "No wonder Ben's still not talking to his father. All you two seem to want to do is drag us down."

"I'm not trying to drag you down, Adrian. I love you, you know that! I don't like to see my baby in pain. I tried so hard to protect you from my life."

"And you have. I'm not living your life."

"You're a struggling teenage mother."

"With a loving boyfriend who's stepped up to the plate and – and a daughter who has loving grandparents, even if we're not seeing at eye level right now."

The doorbell echoed through the apartment and Cindy set down her cup. "Speak of my angel." She reached across the table to pat Adrian's hand before getting up to answer the door. "Ben," she greeted coolly.

"_Lita!"_ Mercy shrieked.

Cindy scooped Mercy into her arms as Ben entered and swung her around causing the child to sound like a siren.

Ben noted Adrian at the table and slowly made his way over to her.

"Things go well at the cemetery?"

Ben nodded. "I'm surprised to find you inside already."

"Things didn't go as planned here."

"Is that a bad thing?" he asked, confused by girlfriend's demeanor.

Cindy returned to the table before Adrian could answer and began to pour a sippy cup with _horchata_.

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

_Grace stood in a meadow, softly blanketed in snow like a giant hand had sifted powdered sugar over it. The sky was a pepper gravy color, still crying snowflakes when Grace looked up and one fell upon the tip of her nose but didn't melt. She touched it with her finger and examined it, wondering why it wasn't dissolving with her body heat._

"_Gracie?"_

_Grace sucked in a deep breath and held it inside her inflated lungs, refusing to breathe or turn around in fear that she might be disappointed. _

"_Grace?"_

_A tear leaked from her eye, splashing against the snowflake on her finger. It dissolved. Grace slowly turned around, blinking away the tears swallowing up her silver eyes. "Dad?" she whispered._

_Standing a few five feet away was her father, Marshall Bowman. He wore a white shirt, pale blue jeans the color the sky would be if it wasn't snowing, and brand new white tennis shoes. He smiled at his daughter._

_Grace tore across the snow and threw herself against her father, hugging him so fiercely to ensure he wouldn't evaporate like the snowflake. "Daddy!" she whispered, repeating the word over and over into Marshall's chest until her breath was ragged and she was hiccoughing._

_Marshall stroked the golden strands of his daughter's shoulder length hair. "Hey, hey," he soothed. He rubbed her back and kissed the part in her hair. "Shhhh."_

"_I missed you so much!" she sobbed._

"_I missed you too, Gracie."_

"_I'm sorry."_

"_Sorry?" Marshall pried Grace's off of his waist and knelt down like he used to when she was just a little girl. "Sorry for what, Grace?"_

"_For – for –" Grace sniffed and wiped her gushing nose with her sleeve. "For every fight we ever had and for not telling you how much I love you enough and –"_

_Marshall tugged a tissue from his pocket and used it to wipe Grace's eyes and nose. "You always told me how much you loved me. As for the fights, that's what parents and children do."_

_Grace sniffed and rubbed her reddening eyes. "Then I'm sorry for letting you down."_

"_How so?"_

"_By running away and ruining my chances of going back to the Young Healers Camp."_

_Marshall cupped his hands around the sides of Grace's head and forced her to look eye level with him. "I am. Not. Disappointed in you." He pulled her towards him, kissing her forehead. "You did what you had to do, Gracie."_

_Grace scrunched up her eyes and reached for his face, feeling the contours of his nose, cheeks, and eye wells. "I feel like I've lost everything since I lost you."_

"_What about your mother and Tom?"_

"_I hurt them."_

"_We hurt the people we love sometimes." Marshall let his hands drain down his daughter's face. He rose to his full height and offered his hand. "Walk with me, Gracie."_

_Grace sniffled and took his hand, feeling like a toddler. She followed at his side for a while in the silence of the falling snow, then they traveled over a hill and when they got to the top she noticed a small white church in the near distance, with a curl of smoke rising from the chimney. Her father attempted to take her forward, but she shook her head. "No."_

_Her grip on his hand started to loosen, but Marshall tightened his, refusing to let her go. "Gracie, come with me."_

_Grace numbly nodded, if only to spend more time with her father. She pushed her shoes through the growing snow mounds until they got to the front steps and her father opened the door. When they walked inside, she found herself in her own church, dressed just as it had been for the recent holidays, but it was devoid of life save for herself and her father._

_Marshall led Grace over to the front pew and sat down. He waited for Grace to sit down beside, then his eyes flicked to the pulpit. "Tell me about my grandson."_

_Grace felt her tears flowing again. "He's like a doll I can't touch, all wrapped in a package that I just want to tear open. I'm so afraid I'm going to lose him!"_

_Marshall nodded and motioned to the crucifixion. "Grace."_

_Grace shook her head._

"_You know what to do."_

"_It doesn't work. God didn't protect you, did He? He didn't protect me from Grant! And now He's making a power play for my son! I'm not getting on my knees against my will, not again!"_

_Marshall nodded, stood, and knelt down in front of the pulpit. He pressed his hands together and held his lips to them, whispering._

_Grace cautiously neared him, attempting to hear what he was saying, but his words were like the snowflakes: falling too softly to hear._

_When he finally stood, he embraced her fiercely. "I love you, Gracie. And I am so, so proud of you. Tell your mother and your brother how much I love them too."_

_Grace began to shake her head. "No, no," she sniffled. "Don't!"_

_Marshall cupped Grace's chin. "It's like you walked out of one of her old photographs, did you know that?"_

_Grace shook her head._

_Marshall thumbed away her tears. "And tell your son that his grandpa's always watching over him."_

_Grace felt an earthquake shudder through her jaw as she shook her head, begging her father not to leave her. She threw her arms around him again. "I love you, Daddy. I love you! I love you! Don't leave me!"_

"_I'm always with you, Gracie."_

Grace shut her eyes, intent on not allowing her father to escape her. Soon she felt her hands slick with tears and felt a foreign hand on her shoulder. She jumped, not expecting who she was going to see next. God? But it wasn't, it was just the nurse, and Grace realized she was hunched over in her chair, hugging her backpack.

"I'm sorry to disturb you," the nurse said awkwardly. "But visiting hours are over."

Grace wiped her hands onto her skirt and nodded. "Sorry."

The nurse pursed her lips and offered her a tissue.

Grace gratefully accepted, dabbing her eyes and blowing her nose into the white paper. She stood up and stared at her sleeping son again, her father's words ringing like a bell in her mind. She smiled tragically and reached into her backpack, pulling out her father's Christmas angel; she set it on top of the incubator. "Your grandpa is always watching over you."

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

Ben was already in bed when Adrian climbed in beside him. "You look upset."

Adrian was faced away from him, staring at her alarm clock. "I'm going to take Mercy to see your dad tomorrow."

"What?"

"You heard me."

"We talked about this! If he can't even have the decency to say he wants to see her–"

"You and I both know he wants to see her. It's just the pigheaded Boykewich blood that's refusing to tell it like it is."

"You're one to talk about pigheaded."

"Yeah, I am."

Ben glared and rolled over, staring at the closet. "_Fine._ Do whatever you want, just don't waste the whole day over there. I want to see my daughter on Christmas too."

"You're being immature."

"And he's not?"

Adrian shook her head and reached up to turn off the light. "Goodnight, Ben."

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

Grace passed the porch on her way to the former guest house and noticed George pacing back and forth under the light. She squinted, wondering why he was out on the porch in the cold at such a late hour.

"…no, Ash, it's fine! I'm just so happy you called!"

The blonde smiled a little as she ducked around to her door, entered her passcode, unlocked the door, stepped inside, and immediately rearmed the alarm. She tossed her backpack onto the floor, slid out of her clothes and into a nightgown, brushed her teeth, and then stepped out of the bathroom making a beeline for her bed. She paused before getting in, then turned and pulled her father's book out of her backpack and held it to her chest as she crawled into bed. She thumbed off the light and laid in the dark for a while, feeling the lightweight of the book on her chest. When she closed her eyes, she couldn't sleep: she kept seeing her father's face and hearing his voice in her head.

"_You know what to do."_

Finally, Grace pushed the covers off herself and climbed out of bed. Her toes wiggled in the cool air and she fingered the pages of her book. Then she set it onto the warm spot she'd vacated and slowly knelt down, her knees trembling, and braced her elbows against the edge of her bed. She closed her eyes and threaded her hands. "G-God," she stammered. "It's Grace Bowman. I – I'm still angry with You, don't think that I'm not, but this isn't about me, it's about him. My son. He doesn't have a name yet. I'm afraid to give him one until I know he won't be taken from me too. Please…_please!_ None of this was his fault." She felt shouldering tears hit her fingers in the dark. "Have mercy on my little boy! Is that too much to ask?" Her hands fell apart and she crumpled against the side of the bed.

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

Christmas morning in the Shakurs' living room looked like Father Christmas had thrown up. Wrapping paper, bags, bows, and glittery tissue paper were everywhere shortly after breakfast. Nora Underwood had arrived earlier than expected, so they had decided to forgo waiting to open presents until after dinner and just open them immediately. Each of the gifts under the tree – and the ones Nora had brought with her – had been opened, except one: the one present from Ricky and the Shakurs to Heather, who had saved it for last, just to annoy her best friend.

Heather rotated the thin package in her hands, teasing the older boy as she decided from which angle to open it. Finally she settled on the bottom left corner and peeled it back, using her thumb nail to tear the tape along the seam. Instead of sliding the contents out though, she repeated the process on the top, starting from the top right seam. Then she tore downwards, tearing the strip of tape across the back. It was impressive precision when she finally did fold open the paper, revealing a manila folder.

Curious, she glanced at her temporary family who said nothing. Heather quirked an eyebrow and opened the folder, spying a stack of folded papers. Her eyes washed over the words on the first paper and when she'd reached the bottom, she read it again. Afterwards, she turned the page, but her eyes were too watery to read the rest. She looked up again and wiped away the watering that was gluing her eyelashes together. "Is this for real?"

"As real as it gets," Shakur nodded.

Heather couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of those words coming out of the man's mouth. They just didn't seem like something the straight laced doctor would say and they sounded funny paired with his Eastern Indian accent.

"So, what do you say?" Ricky asked.

Heather looked at the paperwork again: legal documents that would make the Shakurs her legal guardians, not just her temporary guardians. A part of her wondered how her parents had ever agreed to such a thing, but then she reminded herself that they had also agreed to kicking her out and lying about the fact that they had done so. But now she was being offered the chance to have a permanent home, with two loving parents and a best friend slash brother.

"You can't do better than Margaret and Shakur," Nora said. She slid her arm around her son's shoulders. "See how this little punk turned out? Not my doing."

Heather laughed and rubbed her eyes again.

"You had more input than you think," Margaret said.

Nora smiled.

"So there's no chance they'd take me away?" Heather asked for clarification. "I mean, my parents couldn't just come and demand me back? This is foolproof?"

"Your parents have already agreed to the necessary legalities."

Heather snorted. "Probably in exchange to get themselves off the hook, the worms." She heaved a breath and stood up, paperwork in hand. "But that's fine, because I washed my hands of them the day they kicked me out on the street. But you – you all brought me in, even when I was at my worst, and you accepted me like family. So, that's what you are. Now, where do I sign?"

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

Grace spat into the sink and thrust her phone to her ear, not caring that she was in the middle of brushing her teeth when it rang. It was the hospital. "Hello?!"

"Is Ms. Grace Bowman available?"

"This is she!"

"Hello, Ms. Bowman. I'm calling about your son –"

"_Yes?"_ Grace asked, bulldozing over the woman's words.

"We'd like you to come down to the hospital, there's been a change in his condition…"

Like an elevator, Grace's stomach plummeted.

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

Adrian did a double take when Camille opened the front door of the Boykewich mansion.

"Adrian!" Camille squeaked. "What are you doing here?"

Adrian deftly motioned to the stroller. "I brought Mercy over for Christmas."

Camille nodded. "Well I'm afraid Leo's not here right now." She peered out the doorway, looking back and forth.

"Ben's not with me," the Latina explained.

"I see." Camille shifted awkwardly in her high heels and then stepped aside, motioning for the teenager to come in. "I'm sure he'll be back shortly, you can wait in the living room for him."

"Thank you." Adrian pushed the stroller inside, feeling the blonde woman's eyes on her back as she made her way to the living room. She knew Camille had never been a big fan of hers and she quietly hoped that maybe she and Mercy could wait by themselves for Leo. "Hopefully he won't be gone too long," she said as pulled back the shade on the stroller and pulled her daughter out.

Mercy's eyes lit up as soon as she saw the familiar surroundings. She spread out her arms, silently begging to be let down so she could touch and explore.

Adrian walked around, inspecting the room not expecting to see it still baby proofed, so she was surprised to see the plastic plugs still in the wall sockets and even noted new pictures of Mercy alongside those of Sarah, Leo, and Ben on the mantle. She silently cursed her boyfriend for refusing to come with her and tapped Mercy's button nose. "I hope that Boykewich blood isn't as strong in you as it is in them."

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

Ben made his way through the cemetery, careful to walk around the plots of land. His mother had always instilled in him the disrespect of walking over someone else's grave. He was lost in the thoughts of his mother when he looked up and stopped cold. Where he expected to see the empty plot of land where his mother's headstone sat, save for the poinsettia he and Mercy had left the day before, he saw his father, Leo Boykewich, standing over the grave, holding his own poinsettia. If he strained against the low whistle of the wind, he could hear the sound of his father's tears.

From his vantage point, he could see Leo's mouth moving, but he must have been whispering, because Ben couldn't pick up on what was being said. He felt his chest constrict, teeming with far too many contradictory emotions. A whispering in the wind seemed to suggest that he move forward and join his father at the grave, but his legs paid no attention and rooted him into the dying grass. He watched as his father set the poinsettia he'd brown beside Ben's own. It was larger than the one Ben had purchased and the canister was wrapped in shiny gold paper, where Ben's was in silver.

Leo struggled to his knees, tracing the letters in the headstone as his son had done so many times before him. He'd told Ben countless times that he needed to move on, because his place was in the world of the living. Unlike his son, he had stopped visiting Sarah's grave after the first year anniversary of her death.

Ben felt perverted as he watched the intimate moment, like a Peeping Tom that had no right to be standing there, but he couldn't stop. It had been so long since he'd seen his father so vulnerable, and he wondered if this was why he refused to visit the cemetery anymore. Even when they'd come together in that first year, he'd never seen his father cry. Not one tear since the day of her funeral, like he'd shed himself dry.

Eventually Ben turned away. He wasn't ready to speak to his father just yet and certainly not today, when his girlfriend had taken his daughter and he'd been punched through with holes as he thought of his mother and everything they used to do together on Christmas; how he'd never get to share those things with Mercy. Anymore emotion just might make him burst like an overfilled water balloon. He felt something splash against his cheek. Tears? No. It was raining. Ben pulled his hood over his head and carried himself back through the cemetery, his father never the wiser.

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

Grace was shaking in the chair beside her son's incubator. The angel she'd left there was still there, but her son was not. Her face was running with the force of a river, with both her mother and her brother standing on either side of her, their hands on her shoulders.

The nurse from the day before approached, holding a still bundle in her arms. She walked over to Grace and laid the package into Grace's arms.

Grace gasped as she stared at her son's face and his eyes opened to look at her.

"His color improved late last night," the nurse beamed. "We'd been monitoring him closely all morning and when we were able to take his respirator away and he seemed to be breathing okay on his own, we phoned you."

Grace pressed a kiss to the infant's forehead.

"So he's going to be okay?" Kathleen asked.

"We want to keep him under observation for a while longer, but, yes, we do believe he's going to be okay."

Tom reached to touch the top of his nephew's blonde head. "He nee's a name."

Grace nodded in agreement. She eyed her father's angel again and then looked at the nurse. "I have a name."

The nurse nodded. "What is it, dear?"

Grace swallowed thickly and cleared her throat. "Christian." She looked to her brother, who was grinning, then to her mother, who nodded approvingly. "Christian Marshall Bowman."


	3. When Opportunity Rocks

**A/N: **All done with this semester! Lucky for you, that means for regularly timed updates instead of me trying to squeeze things in between final essays and presentations. (Now I just have to do that scary waiting to find out my grades.) While I'm doing that, here's the next chapter!

_**Turning Tables**_

**When Opportunity Rocks**

Grace rolled over in bed and blearily opened her eyes, feeling as though there was something she was forgetting. Then her eyes snapped up and she sat ramrod in bed, searching for her son. He wasn't in his bassinet and nobody else was in the room. Her heart was galloping as she got up and began to run around barefoot. When she still couldn't find him she darted outside and stopped cold when she got to the porch and found George sitting with Christian on the porch swing.

"You're finally up," George greeted. He stretched his legs and stood. "Breakfast's in the microwave and your mom just got in the shower."

Grace pointed to her son and moved to inspect him, but Christian was sleeping peacefully in the older man's arms. "How – why do you have him out here?" she demanded, breathless.

George blinked. "Well you made a valiant effort to stay up all night with him, but after you fell asleep around six A.M. your mom stayed up to watch him until she went to make breakfast, so she asked me to stay with him instead. I thought he might want a little fresh air and you were still sound asleep, so…"

Grace touched her chest. "It was really upsetting to wake up and find him nowhere to be found the first night I was able to bring him home."

George nodded. "I apologize. I wasn't thinking."

Grace nodded. "Just…leave a note next time, okay?"

"Will do." George gazed lovingly at the little boy. "I always wanted a son. Not that my girls weren't good enough, but…boys and their dads."

The teenager winced.

"I'm sorry," George said again. "Stupid…pay no attention to me, I'm stupid old man."

"You're not stupid," Grace sighed. "You just…sometimes don't think." She opened her arms as George handed her son to her. "How is he?"

"Good. I changed him about an hour ago. He was a little fussy before he fell asleep though. I gave him the binky, but I think he's hungry."

Grace pursed her lips. There was formula in the cupboard, but the nurses at the hospital had insisted that breastfeeding was ideal and they'd tried to teach her how, but she'd been too embarrassed to learn. After she'd come home from the hospital, she'd done her own research and corroborated their claims.

"I could grab you a plate," George said, opening the front door.

"That's fine, I can do it." Grace moved in past him and wandered into the kitchen, filling a plate with some chopped up strawberries, watermelon slices, and a piece of lukewarm French toast. One handedly she squeezed maple syrup onto the French toast, threw a fork on top, and headed back out to her room.

George caught her trying to open the door without free hands and silently assisted Grace, whom thanked him with a nod. He followed her out to the former guest house and once again opened the door as well. He waited for a minute as she looked around the room – having forgot to rearm it in her hasty search for her son – and when she was satisfied he left.

Grace armed the alarm and laid Christian down in Mercy's old bassinet. She watched him – now awake – staring at her with his big ocean colored eyes as she ate her breakfast. She chewed on a strawberry as she realized they were her father's eyes. She'd said it before, but here was a proof: a little piece of her father had come back to her in the form of her son. When she searched Christian's features, she couldn't find any trace of Grant, and for that she thanked the Lord.

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"My mom said she'd watch Mercy tonight if we want to go out. Or stay in. Whatever."

"I thought there were hard and fast rules about helping us out?" Ben snorted.

"I guess she's counting it as a belated Christmas present or something. Or maybe she just feels guilty."

"Guilty?"

Adrian shook her head. "Nothing. Let's just take it while it's being offered, okay?"

Ben nodded. "Fine by me." He came to sit beside Adrian on the couch with his bowl of Lucky Charms. "It's New Year's Eve, what do you want to do?"

"What do people usually do on New Year's Eve?"

"Drink and kiss?"

"Well, I don't drink."

Ben swirled the cereal around his milk and proceeded to set the bowl on the coffee table. He looked at his girlfriend. "So, that leaves only one option. Maybe two. But you haven't really been in the mood lately."

"I know." Adrian nibbled on her cherry Pop-Tart. She smiled unenthusiastically.

"Ever since we had that snafu with the electric bill."

"It was a bit more than a snafu, Ben."

"Okay, but you're a forgiving person."

"Do you know me at all?"

Ben ran his fingers through his girlfriend's hair. "You've got to forgive me sometime. How about we make that our New Year's Resolution? Open and honest communication for the new year? No more secrets."

"Shouldn't that be a given with relationships?"

"It should be, but it's not."

Adrian nodded. "Okay. So, we're starting completely fresh."

"Yes." Ben leaned in, nuzzling Adrian's neck. "Sealed with a kiss?" He moved his mouth towards hers, but Adrian pressed a finger to it.

"Midnight."

Ben pouted.

"That doesn't mean you can't continue doing that nuzzling thing you were just doing…but no hickeys!"

Ben licked his lips and returned to nuzzling Adrian's neck.

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

Ricky strode down the hallway to thump on Heather's bedroom door when he stopped in his tracks at the sound of laughing and giggling coming from inside the bedroom. He squinted his eyes and leaned towards the closed door, immediately thinking that Heather might be on the phone or webcam with Ashley, but to his surprise he heard the voice of someone else who was distinctly_ not_ Ashley Juergens. He listened for a minute, feeling only vaguely guilty for doing so, then he turned and headed downstairs.

Margaret was cubing pineapple when her son walked in. She looked at him and smiled as she used the edge of the knife to slide the chunks of pineapple she'd already cut up to the corner of her cutting board. "Going by the look on your face, you have a question."

Ricky made a thumbs up, not to show that she was correct in her deduction, but instead pointing towards the ceiling. "We have company?"

"A friend from school," Margaret said absently, resuming her chopping.

"Who?"

"Lisa, if I recall."

Ricky snorted. If Margaret had approved friends coming over, she damn well knew their names _and_ their parents' names. He _harrumphed_. "Nobody mentioned that to me."

"I didn't realize Heather had to run her guests by you."

Ricky snorted. "Well since you and dad are going to that office party whatever," he said, motioning to the fruit salad Margaret was making for salad party, "I just figured Heather and I would be celebrating the New Year together."

"You shouldn't have assumed."

"Who is this 'Lisa,' anyway? Heather hasn't mentioned her before."

Margaret stopped chopping to look at him, as if gauging how much she should divulge. "I think she's on the Grant girls' basketball team. She seems like a nice enough young lady."

Ricky tried to envision this year's basketball team, but he was coming up empty. Even though he was still in band, he didn't catalog all the female athletes like he used to. The name seemed to ping a bell somewhere in his head, but it was a common name, so that wasn't surprising.

"You don't need to be jealous," Margaret said knowingly.

"Who's jealous?" Ricky shot back. But even as he said it, he knew it was true. Ashley and Heather were his two best friends, but the former wasn't coming back to town until Sunday and he's taken for granted that Heather would hang out with him. He wasn't even sure when she had time to find herself a friend on the basketball team, she was always hanging out with him and Ashley at and after school. Except, of course, when he went to the batting cages or had band practice.

"Welcome to sharing your siblings with the other people in their lives," Margaret said. Her voice was teasing, but there was a serious undertone running through her words.

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"Hey!" Grace said, motioning her best friend inside the former guest house. "Where's Ben?"

"Dropping Mercy off at my mom's. We're getting some quality time tonight."

"Finally over the electric bill?"

"By tonight, hopefully. How about you?" Adrian noted a half empty baby bottle on the bed and a can of formula on the dresser. She walked over to her daughter's former bassinet and peered in at the sleeping blonde.

"Well, it's only been one night so far."

"Get any sleep?"

"Surprisingly, yeah. I didn't mean to, but I did."

"Good. You're going to need it, because it won't always be that way. In fact, it probably won't be that way most of the time. How's the healing?"

Grace grunted. "I'm still mostly wearing dresses and nightgowns and loose skirts all the time because of the cesarean. You have _no_ idea."

"I'm thankful I had a vaginal birth," Adrian nodded. "How long 'til you're back to school?"

"Because of Martin Luther King Day, not until the eighteenth."

Adrian took a seat on her friend's bed, itching to ask a question, but not wanting to upset Grace.

"What? I can tell something just crossed your mind." Grace climbed up beside her and moved the bed to the foot of the bed.

"It's just…I thought the trial started on the tenth? I don't ask to upset you, but I was going to make arrangement to try and be there. Well, that was before my job, but–"

"That's what it's been scheduled for, but D.A. Enriquez is trying to get it pushed back a week, maybe two, because of my recovery. I didn't want to do that, but I think it's best for me." She looked toward the bassinet. "And for him."

Adrian nodded. "I'm so happy to see you doing better."

"There's been such a weight off my chest ever since Christmas. God really answered my prayers."

Adrian smirked. "I don't think you and I are ever going to see eye-to-eye on that, but nonetheless, I'm glad." She hopped off the bed and blew Christian a kiss. "I have to fly though. I just wanted to drop by on my way to the store and see you."

"What do you need at the store?"

"Oh," Adrian waved her hand dismissively. "Nothing I can borrow from you, trust me."

Grace shook her head at her friend's tone. "Never mind."

"Exactly," the Latina winked. "See you, Grace."

"Bye, Adrian."

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"You be good for Lita, okay?" Ben said, looking at his daughter who was face-level with him in his arms.

Mercy plastered a slobbery kiss to his cheek in response.

"That's enough," Cindy chuckled before taking her favorite handful into her arms. "We're going to have a lot of fun together tonight, aren't we?"

"_Div'r! Div'r!"_ Mercy squealed.

"Really?" Ben gawked. "Now she's trying to say 'fun' in Spanish too?"

"I'm a good teacher," Cindy shrugged. "If only I wasn't a flight attendant, maybe I'd be a teacher. I hear the pay is terrible though."

Ben wiped his cheek with his sleeve. "Thanks, Cindy."

"Don't thank me, just go make sure my daughter's happy. This isn't going to become a thing."

"Yes, ma'am!"

"And don't call me 'ma'am!'"

Ben saluted her and ducked out of the condo with a spring in his step. His phone began to ring as he got out to his car. "Henry, can't talk right now I'm–"

"I was going to ask if you wanted to come over."

"You're not spending New Year's with Alice?"

"You haven't listened to any of my voicemails, have you?"

"No time."

"She's out of town with her parents. I figured since you and Adrian have been–"

"That's not a problem anymore," Ben said giddily. He revved his engine. "We've got plans, sorry man."

"Ugh," Henry groaned.

"Hey, no offense, but you were getting some on Christmas. We're just having a reversal of fortunes. Now I gotta go, I have to put a little surprise together before Adrian gets home. _Home_," he chuckled. "I love saying that."

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

Ricky was in the laundry room when he heard a thunder of footsteps come down the stairs and he quickly slipped out in time to see Heather and another teenage girl, maybe five foot four, clattering down the stairs with the front door in sight. He found the latter fairly attractive, with ebony hair hanging halfway down her torso and caramel-smooth skin the color of gingersnap cookies. But neither seemed to take notice of him, so as Heather opened the door, he hollered to her.

Heather promptly turned around and shot him a quick glare. "I'm on my way out, Underwood. What's the problem?"

"Where are you going?"

Heather scowled, letting him know that she didn't appreciate his tone. "Lisa and I were invited to a New Year's Eve party. I already cleared it with Margaret and Shakur." She nudged Lisa. "Gotta go, don't wanna miss the New Year!"

Ricky elbowed the wall after they left and returned to the laundry room, where the washing machine was half full of wet whites. His parents had already left for the night and now he was all alone in the house. Annoyed, he slammed the washer lid down and ferried his phone out of his pocket. He hit the speed dial he had for Ashley and pressed the phone to his ear. It rang and rang and rang some more.

"I'm out having a life," Ashley's voicemail recording answered. "You can leave me a message or go out and have your own."

Ricky grunted and hung up as the voicemail beeped.

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

Grace sat on her bed with Christian in her arms, trying in frustration to nurse him, but each time she tried, she'd pull him away. Finally she jumped at the sound of a knock on her door, set Christian into his bassinet, and pulled her shirt down before answering. She knew it was George by the sound of his knock, though she was slightly surprised to see her mother standing beside him.

George dressed in slacks and a burgundy tie and Kathleen in a burgundy dress that cut off just above the knee and hugged all her right curves with carefully placed pleating up from just below the bust right down to the hem. The dress was sleeveless, though triangular strips of fabric came up over her shoulders and around her neck, almost giving the illusion that she was wearing a mini jacket.

Grace blinked. "You two look nice."

Kathleen grinned and patted her boyfriend's arm. "We're going to the New Year's Eve party at the church. We were wondering if you and Christian wanted with come too."

Grace stared down at herself, still wearing a loose fitting nightgown and slippers. Her hair was a mess. "I'm not really dressed for it," she muttered.

"You don't have to come if you don't want to," Kathleen assured her.

"Is Tom going?"

"He's getting dressed right now," George said.

Grace looked over at Christian's bassinet, realizing that if she didn't go then she and Christian would be left home alone. "Sure!" she squeaked. "I just need to get dressed."

Kathleen and George shared a look, to which the latter gave a nod. Kathleen reached up to kiss George. "We'll be in shortly," she said as he walked back to the main house.

"You two are getting very good at that nonverbal communication," she said as her mother slipped into the door.

"You should've seen us in high school," Kathleen laughed. "Webster's had nothing on us." She waited for Grace to lock and arm the door. "I was thinking I could do your hair," she said as Grace meandered over to the closet to find something suitable to wear, yet comfortable enough that it wouldn't irritate her still healing caesarian wounds.

Grace couldn't remember the last time her mother had done her hair for her. It was a sporadic thing, on and off for years. She used to do it all the time when Grace was little, until a few months after Grace got her ears pierced. There had been an incident where the brush caught on the earring and without knowing, Kathleen had pulled it down, ripping the lobe. There was still a tiny scar there that only someone close enough and looking could see, but her earrings still didn't hang quite evenly. The teenager absently touched her earlobes, which did not currently have earrings in them, and nodded. "I'd like that."

Kathleen disappeared into the bathroom to find a brush.

Grace eyed her closet again, her hand moving in and out of the clothing until it landed on a turquoise, purple, and indigo floral patterned sundress from the eighties. It had been her mother's and it was ankle length, but the fabric was fluttering and wouldn't feel constricting around her belly, so she laid it onto the bed.

"That old thing?" Kathleen cringed when she emerged from the bathroom, brush in hand.

"It's not that bad."

"Maybe if it was a few feet shorter."

"You want me to show off my legs?"

"No! For _me_, back when it was _mine_, it might not have been so bad if it was a few feet shorter."

"Maybe you would've liked it if your mom hadn't been so strict?"

Kathleen gazed at the dress and sighed. "I did always like the colors…but the style, not so much."

Grace selected a pair of purple flats with little bows on the toes. "I'll be right out," she said, snatching up the hanger the dress was on and disappearing into the bathroom.

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

The microwave didn't have time to beep because Ben pressed the button to end the heating cycle so he wouldn't have to hear it. When the door popped open, the waft of hot chocolate hit him square in the face and he wanted to linger there sniffing it, but he knew he didn't have a lot of time, so he pulled out his mixing bowl of melted milk chocolate and set it on the counter beside the Driscoll strawberries he'd rinsed off and were draining in the plastic containers he'd purchased them in. He grabbed a strawberry, dabbed any excess water off with a napkin, and held it by the leaves as he swirled it into the melted chocolate and then set it to rest on a cookie sheet covered in a strip of wax paper. He repeated the process until the tray was half covered in milk chocolate covered strawberries.

Next, he dumped a bag of white chocolate chips into another mixing bowl and set it to melt in the microwave, his face pressed to the window while it turned. He paused it midway through, gave it a stir, and resumed the melting until the end when he again stopped the timer before it could beep. As with the milk chocolate, he swirled the strawberries through the white chocolate and set them to harden until the other half of the cookie sheet was covered. He still had leftover strawberries and both types of melted chocolate leftover when he was done, so he put the leftover chocolate into the microwave and leftover strawberries into the fridge, then he carried the tray down the hall to the bedroom, where he balanced it over the crack where their pillows touched. A couple of champagne glasses and a bottle of sparkling cider were already on the bed and sprinkled around them were red rose petals.

From down the hall he heard the front door open and he scampered out to meet his girlfriend, who had a shopping bag in her hand, but not the typical kind of grocery bag, it was a powder blue bag with cursive words in such a swirly type that Ben couldn't make out what they said. He could, however, make an educated guess on what was inside the bag. "Adrian?" he asked, his eyes focused on the bag.

Adrian reached into the bag and pulled out a small bottle. She squeezed a drop of its contents onto her finger and then moved to her boyfriend and touched her finger to the tip of his nose.

Ben shuddered as he felt his skin tingle with whatever Adrian had put on her finger. He tried to reach for the bag, but she pulled it away, laughing. "That's not the only thing you bought, did you?"

Adrian shook her head. "You'll find out what the other is soon enough."

Ben crossed his arms. "And what about spending excess money?"

"I thought you might bring that up," Adrian nodded. "So here it is: now we've both paid for things that we really couldn't afford. I propose we just make the most of it and let them be the _last _things we pay for without consulting one another."

Ben glanced excitedly at the bag. "I have a feeling your purchase is going to be a hell of a lot better than mine."

Adrian grinned and glanced at her watch. "It's just about nine. You wanna see what else is in here?" She held up the bag tauntingly.

Ben nodded, his nose still tingling.

Adrian trailed down the hallway. "Good, because I might need a little help…"

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

Ricky's cell rang once and he darted to pick it up before it could ring again. It was Ashley's ring. "Hey!"

"I told you a few weeks ago that my mom had to cut the minutes back on our family plan to save money, so tell me what you want and make it quick!"

"I forgot," Ricky sighed. "Are you near your laptop?"

"No, we're having a movie night because Mimsy wanted to have an eighties' movie marathon and I was bored out of my mind so I said I was going to the bathroom and now I'm hiding in the shower and hoping to Buddha that nobody walks by and hears me on my phone."

"You could've texted. Or did she cut that back too?"

"No, but texting takes too long. Ricky, seriously, what's going on?"

"Nothing. Heather's out, my parents are out…and I was bored."

"I'm glad I'm your last resort."

"It's not like that—"

"You're way too easy, you know that?" she laughed. "Wait, you're not out with Heather? Why?"

"She had plans with someone else."

"_Interesting."_

"Not as much as you'd think," Ricky grumbled. "Anyway, look, I don't want to rack up your mom's minutes. Sorry I called in the first place. Enjoy the movies."

"Ricky–"

He hung up and threw his phone across the couch. Ricky stretched out and turned on the television, not interested in watching the ball drop in Time Square. Instead he turned to the Food Network and found a _Chopped_ marathon playing. He watched it until a commercial came on, then he shut it off, because _Chopped_ was more Heather's thing than his. Then he wandered down to his basement bedroom and sat down at his drum set. He picked up the drumsticks, tapped each drum, crossed the sticks, alternated them in his hands if though he was weighing them, and then he began to thrum out something that made the blood in his veins vibrate.

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"Grace!" Reverend Crisp greeted. "I'm so glad you could join us this fine evening. And I see you brought our newest member of the congregation along as well. Wonderful!"

Grace nodded. "He's not sleeping through the night, otherwise I probably wouldn't have brought him."

"All in time," the Reverend nodded. He picked up a star themed paper plate at the refreshments table and dropped a few cookies onto it. "You know, your mother mentioned to me last week that you were thinking of looking into a job."

"Well, _obviously,_" Grace said, her gray orbs shifting to her son.

"I've been thinking about that," he said in between nibbles on his cookies. "And I was wondering: might you be interested in a position in the church daycare?"

Grace felt her mouth hold in the shape of an O. "Are you serious?"

The Reverend raised his finger warningly. "We have a member who is moving next month and we'll have a job opening then," he said. "But, I'm afraid it's only part time, and it doesn't offer any benefits."

"Money is a benefit," Grace said.

"Quite true," he agreed. "I like your attitude, young lady."

Grace smiled. "What kind of hours?"

"I'd have to check with Mrs. Ryan, who runs the daycare, but I'm sure we can work something out around your school schedule. Education always comes first!" He wiped the crumbs from his chin and polished off the cookies with a plastic cup of lemonade. "But we can talk about that when the time comes. Right now, you just work on healing."

Grace watched the Reverend walk away. "Healing," she repeated. That was something she needed to do in so many ways. She promptly sat down on a nearby pew to rest her legs. Jobs usually didn't just present themselves like that, so she knew that it was a blessing, even if it was only a part time position.

"Are you all right?" Kathleen asked, coming to take a seat next to her daughter. "You want me to take him for a while?"

Grace shook her head. "No, I'm – I'm fine." She laughed. "Reverend Crisp just offered me a job."

"Really?"

"Yeah," the teenager nodded enthusiastically. "Not right away, but still. Finally. Some things are _finally_ going right."

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

Adrian bit into the white chocolate strawberry Ben was holding over her mouth at the same time Ben bit into the milk chocolate strawberry she was holding over his mouth. Their arms were crossed as they laid on their bed, the tray of strawberries half eaten, a considerable amount of the oil she'd brought home earlier gone from the opened bottle on the nightstand, and a few Italian condom wrappers on the floor beside the bed.

"Just a few more – minutes – until – midnight," Ben whispered, his voice clipped between licking and nipping at the strawberry.

Adrian finished the strawberry Ben was holding for her and peeled the leaves from between his fingers, flicking them onto the tray corner where a small pile of leaves were accumulating. She rolled over, resting her head on his skinny bare chest.

Ben fingered the red satin bow on the black lace baby doll style lingerie nighty his girlfriend was wearing. "This was a terrible thing to pay for," he mock scolded. "Absolutely no need for it at all."

"Then why don't you take it off me?" Adrian teased as Ben finished her strawberry.

"Maybe I will." He eyed the clock, only a minute left until the new year.

Adrian nuzzled Ben's chest. "Can we just stay like this? Exactly like this."

Ben ran his fingers through Adrian's onyx strands. "Whatever you want."

"I want this. I want _you_."

The clock flashed to _12:00 A.M._

Ben reached to cup Adrian's face, but she already had her cheek pressed into his palm. Their lips melt, white chocolate meeting milk chocolate.


	4. One Foot In The Door

**A/N: **New chapter time, whoop!

_**Turning Tables**_

**One Foot In The Door**

"_Grant, what are you doing here?"_

"_I came to talk to you."_

"_I thought we did that yesterday?"_

"_I didn't get a chance to say everything I wanted to say."_

_Grace shook her head. "Look, no offense Grant, but I have homework so I don't have time and frankly, I really have nothing to say to you anyway."_

_Grant shoved his foot in the doorway. "Please?" he begged. "Just hear me out?"_

_Grace sighed and eased up on attempting to shut the door. "Go ahead."_

"_Grace, I know it's been over three months, but I can't get you out of my head. Every day that we've been apart has been hell on my heart." He touched his hand to the left of his chest. "We were so good together, Grace. I know I fucked up, but-"_

"_I'm with Jason. I'm with Jason and that is all I am going to say to you. So please leave now!"_

_Grant held his foot firmly in the door. "Grace-"_

Grace shot up in bed. Her nightgown was glued to her body with sweat, tight as a second skin, and she was breathing in a way that mirrored an asthma attack. She quickly pushed her covers off of herself, turned on the light and shielded her eyes from the brightness, and checked on Christian who was sleeping safe and sound in his bassinet. When she looked at the time, she realized she'd only been asleep an hour, as Christian had woken up screaming and in need of a change at three in the morning.

She made a round of the former guest house, checking the closet, bathroom, and laundry section. When all seemed clear, she peeled off her sweat laden nightgown, wiped herself down with some baby wipes, and slid on a fresh oversized cotton t-shirt. Grace moved to the calendar up on the wall and looked at where she'd circled the tenth of January in red Sharpie. That had been scribbled out though and the dates had been slashed out one by one all the way through the twenty-third. Grace picked up the same Sharpie and drew a line through the twenty-third as well.

The smell of Sharpie made her cough a little and fan the air, then she set the marker down and lifted up the page to look at the following month. D.A. Enriquez had been successful in rescheduling the trial date, but not just by a week or two as he'd hoped. Due to the court's busy scheduling, it had been marked down for Valentine's Day, the most terrible irony. But by the grace of God, between Ruben and Dr. Fields, they had managed to convince the judge that holding a rape trial on Valentine's Day was too psychologically distressing, which was why the twenty-first was circled instead. Ruben, however, had been sternly warned that they could not continue to submit delay requests, and that no future delays would be honored.

Since the news of the Valentine's Day scheduling, Grace's nightmares, which had lulled following the good upswing in Christian's health, returned with a vengeance, remaining even _after_ Ruben had announced that he'd pushed the date back yet again to the twenty-first. They'd been made worse by the fact that she'd also had to return to school on the eighteenth and it had proven much harder, mentally _and_ physically, than Grace had ever anticipated. Only four days in and she was already behind on her homework, which still wasn't finished despite the weekend. Grace picked up her cell phone and dialed.

"Hello?"

"Dr. Fields?" Grace begged. "I'm so, so sorry to be calling so early…but – but I need to talk to someone."

"That's what my emergency number is for," Ken Fields's soothing voice responded. It sounded glossed with sleep. "What do you need to talk about?"

"I – is there a way we could do an emergency appointment?" She thought she heard a yawn on the other end of the line.

"Of course, just give me a few minutes to get my appointment book and see what I have…"

Grace heard a rustling of papers on the other end of the line.

"Okay, what about six A.M.?"

Grace found herself nodding so hard against her phone that the plastic became hot. "Thank you! Thank you, Dr. Fields." A few minutes later she hung up and dropped onto her bed, her body and mind exhausted, but her heart still thumping too fearfully for her to sleep.

As if hearing the intensity of her heartbeat and it disturbing his sleep, Christian awoke with a curdling scream.

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

Ben glared at the jug of milk at he held it over his bowl of Lucky Charms. Only little white drips were coming off the rim and he shook it, which didn't help. Only half of his cereal was covered in milk. "We're out of milk!" he hollered.

Down the hallway in Mercy's bedroom, Adrian had her squiggly daughter lying on the changing table. The little girl's ankles were pressed together and gripped in Adrian's hand like a slab of butcher meat and Adrian had her shirt pulled up over her nose as she rolled up a handful of dirty wipes into Mercy's foul diaper and tossed it into the Diaper Genie. "We're out of diapers!" she hollered back.

A moment later Ben popped his head into the room, waving a single diaper like a white flag.

"Thank goodness," Adrian breathed. She snatched the diaper from her boyfriend and fastened it around Mercy.

Ben's face paled. "I thought I was being a savior by grabbing the last diaper in the diaper bag," he said. "I didn't realize we were out to the point that there were none to physically put her in."

Adrian stood Mercy up on the table, balancing the toddler upright with her hands.

Mercy held her arms out to Ben.

Ben grinned and grabbed Mercy off the changing table. He spun her around a few times and kissed her head.

"For what it's worth," Adrian said, "you did get to be the savior." She pecked his lips in thanks. "We just have no diapers at all left in the house now."

Ben groaned. "I'll add it to the list."

"And tampons."

Ben made a face as he carried his daughter into the kitchen, picked a pen out of the drawer, and turned to the shopping list that was stuck to the fridge with a couple of alphabet magnets. It already contained: toilet paper, mouth wash, bread, napkins, drain cleaner, detergent, printer paper, colored ink, Johnson's baby shampoo, butter, and vacuum bags. More of the items were written in one handwriting than the other. Ben lifted the pen and wrote down the two additional items, evening out the ratio of items in his handwriting versus the ones added by Adrian.

Adrian walked into the kitchen and peered at the shopping list over her boyfriend's shoulder. "Do we _really_ need colored ink?" she asked. "Printer ink is so overpriced and it really digs into the budget."

"I have a project due in my American Lit. class next week," Ben said. "I have to print out pictures and they _have_ to be in color."

Adrian grimaced. "Fine. We'll work it out, somehow."

Ben pecked her on the lips. "That's the spirit!"

"What are we going to do about the diapers?"

"I'll pick some up on my way–" Ben began instinctively, then stopped and groaned. "Briella's going to need them at some point during the day," he realized. He stared at his girlfriend, who was giving him a _duh_ look. "And the mere fact that you even asked that question means you're hinting that you want me to take care of it this morning."

"Can you, _please?_" Adrian squeaked. "I'm meeting with Mr. Molina about some scholarship applications this morning before class and I'm already running late."

Ben closed his eyes in defeat. "I'll do it, don't worry."

"Thank you!" Adrian kissed his cheek and then Mercy's. "Love you both!"

Ben waved Mercy's hand as Adrian fled through the front door.

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"Who are you texting?" Ricky asked from across the breakfast table.

Heather looked up from her cell phone. "A friend."

"Her name isn't 'Lisa' by any chance, is it?"

"Maybe it is," Heather retorted before her fingers began jamming at the keys again.

Ricky finished buttering his toast. "Is she your new girlfriend or something?" he asked sarcastically.

Heather stopped typing to look up at him.

Ricky blinked. "_Is_ she?" he asked, this time without the attitude.

"Maybe she is," Heather said, also without the attitude. "Is that a _problem_?"

"Why would it be a problem?" he asked, genuinely confused.

"You just look…I don't know…look at yourself." Heather held up the back of a spoon.

In the carnival House of Mirrors-esq reflection of the spoon, Ricky noted his expression and immediately felt guilty. "I just never thought about you and–"

"Because I was knocked up when you met me? Yeah, most people tend to assume that if you're a chick and you have sex with a dude, it means you're on the straight and narrow. That's how bisexuality tends to get lost in the shuffle."

Ricky nodded. "Okay then, point taken. I shouldn't have assumed."

Heather nodded, pleased with that response.

Ricky could see a retort gathering in her eyes, but for whatever reason, she decided to swallow it and return to her texting. "So, you've really got a thing for this girl then?"

Heather looked up from her texting again. "I don't know yet, that's what I'm trying to find out."

Ricky nodded, unable to blame her for that. "Good luck with that."

"Thanks," she said sincerely. Heather's phone vibrated and she looked down, laughed, and began to text with one hand as she reached the other across the table. "Pass the butter?"

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"…I don't know," Grace muttered, well into her impromptu session with Dr. Fields. "I just feel so overwhelmed right now, like I'm being pulled into an undertow. People keep telling me that that's normal for new motherhood, but this whole situation_ isn't_ normal. I can't even breast feed him like I'm supposed to because each time I try, I just flashback to…to…" Her voice snagged and she lunged towards the box of Kleenex on the table to dry her eyes and dab her nose.

"Not all women breastfeed," Dr. Fields explained. "You don't have to if it makes you uncomfortable. Certainly after what you've been through, it's understandable."

"But all the evidence says it's better for him. I want to do right by him and I can't even start off doing something so simple."

"You did right by him by giving birth to him in the first place, didn't you?"

Grace sniffed. "Yes."

"So you are doing what's best for him, but you also have to do what's best for _you_. That's just one more thing in the laundry list of things we've talked about in the last hour that's causing you undue stress, Grace. There are more important things for you to worry about right now. If you just let this one go, you might find you have more energy to concentrate on your studies and the trial."

Grace nodded and wadded up her tissue, rolling it between her hands until they were covered in a fine layer of white fibers. "And what should I do about my nightmares?"

"I could prescribe you–"

"No! No, I mean," Grace shook her head, "I don't want drugs. I'm finally off the pain meds for the caesarian and I don't want any more drugs. They make me feel like there's something wrong with me and there's not. It's what _he _did that's wrong."

"We can increase our sessions leading up to the trial," he offered.

Grace nodded. "Okay. Okay, I think I can do that. I just have to work it around my homework." She sighed at the thought. "Which still isn't even complete."

Dr. Fields rose from his chair to his desk, scribbled something onto a piece of paper, tore it off, and handed it to Grace.

"What's this?" she asked as she began to read it.

"It's a doctor's excuse. Your teachers shouldn't quibble about giving you a little extra time for your homework if you show them that."

"Thank you!"

"But, you can't come to rely on it," he warned, likely out of past experience.

Grace shook her head. "I won't, I promise. I really appreciate this."

"Another thing that might help is a tutor. Maybe, maybe not. Some new mothers find that after they return from their maternity leave, it's helpful to have a tutor to get caught up with the material they missed, instead of trying to figure it out on their own."

"I'll look into that."

"Okay," Dr. Fields said. "Our time is just about up. I'm sorry, but I do have another appointment in ten minutes."

Grace nodded. "Thank you for seeing me on such short notice."

"You're welcome. And Grace?"

Grace stopped with her hand on the door handle and turned at the sound of his voice.

"Good luck."

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"Adrian!" Marc Molina said brightly. He motioned for her to sit down and quickly pulled several pages off his printer tray.

Adrian set her purse into her lap and crossed one leg over the other. "So, you mentioned scholarships in your e-mail?"

Mr. Molina nodded enthusiastically. "A colleague mentioned them to me at a conference we attended over the weekend and I immediately thought of you." He spread the papers from his printer across the desk, upside down from his perspective, so that Adrian could see them right side up.

Adrian scanned the sheets and selected the one to the far right. She pointed to it. "This one's a scholarship for teenage mothers?"

"Specifically, teenage mothers attending New York schools of higher education. I thought I'd found all the teen mother scholarships for you already, but this one fell under my radar because it's brand new, sponsored by a former teenage mother–"

"Chelsea Pinest," Adrian interrupted. "I recognize the name. She was a professor who fought and won an equal pay for equal work settlement for an undisclosed amount about three years ago; born and raised in New York. We read about her in the course I took over the summer."

"I'd really encourage you to apply for that one," Mr. Molina insisted. "I know how much you want to get into a good university and you have the credentials–"

"Just not the funds." Adrian set the paper down and looked at the other two pages. "I haven't heard of either of these."

"One is a generic essay scholarship. The first prize award is only about five-hundred dollars, second-prize one-hundred, and third-prize fifty, but I know how high your English grades are, so I think it would be worth your while if you can find the time. The prompt is your basic, 'If you were awarded this money, how would it help you achieve your educational plans?'" He then gestured to the last page and explained, "And this one is a photo contest."

"Photo contest?" Adrian repeated, unimpressed.

"It's pretty creative, so it may or may not be for you, but I thought I'd print it out and give it to you anyway, you never know."

Adrian slid the papers into a stack, tapped them on the desk, and then dropped them into her purse. "Thank you, I appreciate it."

"You're very welcome. You're a very smart young woman, Adrian. I have a good feeling about you and I wish you all the best in the next few months and beyond."

"You make it sound like I'm launching myself into space. I'm just graduating and going to college."

"Graduation, college, and young motherhood. Those _are_ new worlds, aren't they?"

"I didn't know you were a sci-fi nerd," she laughed. "Anyway, I have to get to class to set up a presentation, but thanks again, I'll look into these." Adrian opened the door and pushed into the current of students.

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"Diapers, diapers, diapers, diapers…_diapers!_" Ben announced, finally spotting the aisle that was marked for the one item he'd hurried down to the nearest grocery store for.

Mercy, seated in the child's seat, pointed to the sign hanging below aisle four.

"Yep, that's the one," Ben said as he struggled to turn the cart—naturally, he'd picked the one with the bum wheel—onto the aisle and abruptly stopped. It was almost exclusively diapers, in all different types of packaging and colors. _"Shit."_

Mercy giggled.

"Zu! Shih Tzu! That's what Daddy said, 'Shih Tzu.' It's a type of doggy," Ben corrected to his daughter. "Not that you ever repeat anything Daddy says anyway." He knew the size of diaper his daughter wore, but with so many brands he had no idea what to pick. Usually Adrian did the shopping and prior to living together, his father had done the shopping. He pushed down the aisle until he found the size he was looking for, then he began to look at the price tags. Finally he decided on the most inexpensive one he could find—they were trying to save money after all—with the highest amount of diapers in it. He tossed it into the basket. "Look at Daddy, saving money and shopping smart. Are you proud of me, Merce?"

Mercy blew a spit bubble the size of her fist.

"Not exactly the reaction I was going for, but I'll take it." He drew a tissue from the diaper bag and wiped his daughter's mouth. "Now let's get out of here so I can drop you off with Briella before Daddy's late for school!"

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"Where's Heather?" Ashley asked as she sat down at one of the inside tables in the cafeteria, across from Ricky. With the breeze, it was too chilly to sit outside.

Ricky turned his head in the direction of the snack cart, where Heather and Lisa were in line, but faced toward each other, lost in laughter.

"Interesting."

"Is that your new catchphrase or something?"

Ashley smirked. "Touchy today." She glanced at Heather again. "You think they'll go to the Valentine's Day dance together?"

"Did you know about this?"

Ashley took a red apple from her paper lunch and rubbed it to a shine against her shirt. "It was kind of obvious."

"When?"

"What, do you think our lives stop when you're not around? You know Heather likes basketball. She likes to shoot hoops when you have band practice. That's how she met Lisa. I told her she should've tried out for the team this year, but she didn't want to for fear that she wouldn't have a permanent place to stay if she got on the team and then got moved out of your place."

Ricky pushed around the cafeteria mac and cheese on his plate, thinking about Heather's fears of being moved if she got too comfortable.

"What?" Ashley asked, leaning forward.

Ricky shook his head. "What you said, it just made me think of something. It's – it's nothing."

"What?" Ashley pressed.

Ricky shrugged and stared at his hot lunch tray. "A few years after I came to live with Margaret and Shakur, they offered to adopt me, but I refused."

Ashley blinked. "I – I assumed they had adopted you."

"Not officially. I've always technically been their foster child, though they consider me their son in every way."

"Why did you refuse?"

"I was kind of superstitious I guess. Logically, it sounds stupid, but in my own head everything was going so well that I was afraid if I accepted the good changes as permanent, then suddenly something would step in to ruin my life again. So when they asked, I said no. It shocked them and, deep down, I think it kind of hurt them, so they never brought it up again, and they didn't want to officiate it without my consent."

"So things just carried on as they were?"

"Yeah, I got exactly what I wanted."

"And now that you're eighteen you're just…on your own?"

"Actually, I can stay in foster care until I'm twenty-one, though I can opt out any time I want since I'm technically of age."

Ashley bit into her apple as Heather walked up and set her tray down, without Lisa. She smiled behind her apple.

"Soooo," Heather drawled, "I got invited to a party this weekend. You two wanna tag?"

"Where's the party?"

"Not sure, one of the girls on the basketball team is throwing it. Her parents will be out of town for her father's birthday, so…"

"Drugs?" Ricky asked. "Drinking?"

"What are you, my mother?"

Ricky glared. "You're still in AA you know."

"It hasn't slipped my mind," she said dryly. "But if you'd like me to coddle you, no, I promise that won't be an issue for me." She made an invisible X across the left side of her chest.

"I'll drag you out over my shoulder," he warned.

"So does that mean you're in?"

"I guess so."

"Ash?"

"I'm not sure," Ashley frowned. "If my mom's working, I can probably weasel my way out of the house. If not, I don't know."

"Well I'm going to be an optimist for once. Maybe you can even bring Toby?" Heather ran her hands together. "It'll be bomb!"

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"'Oh, hi Amy, I left all the inventory for you because I'm the biggest jack-hole boss to ever exist! Have a terrible day!'" Amy singsonged as she threw open the restroom door and joined Adrian at the sink. She hopped up on the edge of the counter and rested her right shoulder against the motion sensing paper towel dispenser.

"Oh, has he asked you for a BJ already?"

The brunette's face flushed. "What?"

Adrian smirked. "My last boss."

Amy nodded. "Right," she said, recalling the gossip surrounding Adrian's last job when she was still pregnant with Mercy. "Okay, maybe not_ quite_ 'biggest jack-hole boss to ever exist,' but he's up there."

"Yeah," Adrian agreed. "The fact that we have to come into the public restroom on our breaks to avoid getting asked to do someone else's shift chores leads me to the same conclusion."

Amy threw her head back. "And my head is starting to vibrate."

"I think I have an Advil in my purse." The Latina eyed the door. "My break's over in about two minutes anyway."

"I think I can wait two minutes."

"Sure?"

"Yeah, it's fine. Well, it's really not, but I can manage. I've been managing." Amy curled her hand around her ponytail and tugged on it, as if trying to pull the pain right out of the honey brown strands.

"Managing what, exactly?"

"Excuse me?"

Adrian stepped back from the sink where she was applying a fresh coat of lip gloss and gave the younger girl a once over, trying to decide if she should broach the subject or not. She'd already unlatched the gate though, so she figured she might as well just push on through. "Ever since you got back from Palm Springs," she said. "You've been…distracted? Irritable." She thumbed towards the door. "Not that that wouldn't explain the irritability, but – I'm getting the impression it's not just him. Oh, and not that I'm counting, but this is your sixth headache in three weeks. Something on your mind?"

Amy laughed.

"What?"

"Your joke."

"What joke?"

"'Something on your mind?'"

Adrian stared at her for a moment, then it dawned on her: "No pun was intended."

Amy's smile disappeared. "Right."

"So?" Adrian pressed. "I've only got about a minute now."

Amy waved her hand in front of the towel machine. The dispenser whirred and spit out a sheet of brown paper towel into her awaiting hands. She waved it under the faucet, which sensed her movement and spat icy water onto the paper until it looked like brown seaweed in her hands, then she rolled it thin and pressed it to her forehead like a bandana. "Palm Springs?" she said, picking up the thread of conversation Adrian had left hanging before.

Adrian nodded. "Something with your grandmother?"

"Mimsy's fine. And Ashley and my mother. And Eugene. They're all fine. It's Jimmy. Rather, it _was_ Jimmy."

"Past tense."

"We broke up. _I_ broke up."

Adrian cocked her head in surprise. "Why? Ben seemed to think you really liked him."

"I did. I _do_." Amy rubbed the towel against her forehead, causing strands of hair to stick to the wet skin like veins. "But it was…" Her cheeks deepened. "…it was about…stuff."

"Do you spell 'stuff' s-e-x?" Adrian asked. "He wanted it and you didn't?"

"More like the other way around."

"_You _wanted it and he didn't?" Adrian gawked.

"Yes. No. Kind of?" Amy shook her head, her cheeks turning into mini heaters. "You remember when Jimmy was supposed to come down for Halloween?" At the elder girl's nod she continued, "I thought maybe we would—you know—_then_. Because I thought I was ready, I thought it would be really romantic if it happened on our first anniversary, but then my mom didn't take us up there like we'd originally planned. So I did something really stupid and I sent him a letter…with a condom in it. I thought it would be—and this is going to sound so stupid now—I thought it would be 'cute.' Like, I thought it would give him a hint, you know?"

"And it _did_, didn't it?"

"Yeah," Amy groaned. "It gave him a hint all right. And he called me up and we got into this _huge_ fight! All because he believes in waiting until marriage. Not that I think that's stupid or anything, but that's not what I believe in. Not exactly. I think that when it's the right time for someone, it's the right time for someone. Nobody should be pressured one way or the other."

"So…you broke up because you don't want to pressure him?"

Amy shook her head. "No. I broke up with him because _I_ don't want to be pressured. Be pressured to have sex or be pressured to _not_ have sex. I don't blame him for sticking to his morals, that's great, but I have to stick to mine too, and I don't want to be judged for not wanting to wait. Why do women always have to be the Virgin Mary _or_ Mary Magdalene? Why is there never anything in between?"

"Are you crazy?" Adrian asked sarcastically. "Realistic expectations for women? Shock, horror!"

Amy sighed. "Maybe Jimmy was right, maybe it wasn't the right time, but I don't know if waiting until marriage would've been right for _me_ either, and I didn't like the way he seemed so disgusted at me for my feelings about that. I think of it like this: if I was with a guy who was pressuring me to sleep with him before I was ready, most people would say that it's not a good thing. So, why should I be with a guy who's pressuring me to wait?"

Adrian found herself nodding. "I guess I can see what you're saying."

Amy smiled. "I guess I just want the possibility to be open; I want to be with someone who shares my views on that, on waiting for the right time for both of us, whether that's before or after marriage. And I refused to be shamed for that."

Adrian smirked.

"What?"

"Just, this, _us_," she said, gesturing between them. "We've been working together for five months now. I never would've expected us to be talking about things like this, but here we are."

Amy cracked a smile. "Crappy working conditions bringing people together, who would've thunk."

"Suffragettes?"

Amy raised a finger. "Point: you."

"_Adrian!"_ Stanely's voice hollered from the other side of the restroom door.

"Oh, look," Adrian scowled. "My break went over."

"Sorry."

Adrian shook her head. "Find me when you get a chance and I'll have that Advil."

"Thanks."

"Mhmm," Adrian murmured as she slipped out of the restroom, hoping to sneak back behind the ice cream counter before Stanley could find her and grill her about taking extended breaks against company policy.

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

The microwave was whirring with Christian's baby bottle inside as Grace shoveled a spatula full of scrambled eggs onto her breakfast plate. Her stomach growled at the aroma and she quickly tossed on a little extra pepper and a side of bacon. A moment later the microwave beeped and Grace looked up and reached for the handle.

Down the hall, the doorbell echoed. Tom got up from the kitchen table with his napkin still tucked into the collar of his shirt. "I'll get i'."

Grace set her plate down beside the sink and tested the bottle by squeezing some of the milk onto the underside of her wrist. Satisfied, she threw a burp cloth over her shoulder, grabbed her plate, and headed towards the living room where Christian was waiting with his grandmother and George. Before she got there, she was stopped by Tom.

"A man i' here for you," Tom replied, scowling suspiciously in the direction of the door.

Grace instinctively looked towards the door and the plate in her hand teetered on her fingers. "What man, Tom?"

Tom shook his head. "Dunno. He jus' says he need t' see you."

The plate suddenly slipped, shattering on the floor. "Oh, oh!" Grace panicked, bending down to try and clean up the shards.

Kathleen popped in front the living room. "I heard a loud–" She stopped as she saw her daughter squatted above the broken plate and spattered eggs. "What happened?"

"Tom says someone's at the door for me, he doesn't know who," Grace rattled off.

"He's in a suit," Tom explained. "'Spensive."

Kathleen touched Grace's shoulder. "Tom, why don't you take Christian and go ask George if he can clean this up while Grace and I see who's at the door?"

Tom accepted his nephew and wandered off to locate George.

Kathleen slipped an arm around Grace's shoulders as they walked to the front door. She opened it first, guarding the teenager with her body. "Can I help you?" she asked the middle aged man on the other side of the threshold.

"Are you Grace Bowman?"

"That's my daughter."

"I need to speak with Miss Bowman."

Grace peeked out from behind her mother. "I'm Grace Bowman. What do you want?"

The man inspected Grace and then retrieved an envelope from the leather bag on his shoulder. He handed it to Grace. "You've been served, Miss Bowman."

Grace gaped as the weight of the envelope dropped into her hand. Her hands shook as she began to tear open the package and pull out the papers sealed inside. She could feel her heart vibrating in her throat as she realized what the papers meant.

"What are they?" Kathleen whispered.

It was as though her mouth had turned to cotton as she handed the papers to her mother. "Custody papers."


	5. Bowl In The Wall

**A/N: **I don't think I mentioned this before, but in case anyone didn't realize, Lisa in this story is the same Lisa (played by Angela de Silva) who attended Adrian's baby shower on the show in season three.

_**Turning Tables**_

**Bowl In The Wall**

"Looks like Mommy and Daddy_ really_ need to go shopping, doesn't it?" Adrian said as she stared into the near-empty refrigerator. There was a bottle of apple juice with only a thin layer of golden liquid covering the bottom of the container, a leftover pizza box, a plastic wrap covered pot with leftover tomato soup, the end of a block of cheddar cheese, and a plastic container containing a handful of strawberries. Adrian grabbed the cheese and examined it, unhappy to discover a fuzzy blue blemish, and tossed it into the trash.

Mercy banged her fists on her high chair tray. Her face was red and blotchy with tears.

"You woke up on the wrong side of the crib, didn't you?" Adrian asked her daughter. "A temper tantrum from the moment I walked in. Well, just hold your horses, _Preciosista_, I'm trying to find you something to eat." She turned back to the fridge. "We can't let these go bad too," she said, pulling out the strawberries. They were not the leftovers from New Year's, but Ben had bought them on special a few days prior and with so little in the house to eat, they'd been going fast. The Latina pulled out the cutting board and quickly chopped up the strawberries, slid them into a bowl, and mixed them up with a touch of sugar. "Sorry, but _Mamá_ doesn't have any whip cream." She tapped Mercy on the nose.

The toddler sat stone faced, refusing to open her mouth.

"Mercy Lee!" Adrian commanded. "If you were older, I'd be happy to let you starve until dinner. Your great grandmother never had any qualms about punishing me that way." She tried again to feed her daughter a spoonful of strawberries, but the little girl turned her face away. "Fine," she growled, and set the bowl down in front of Mercy. "Feed yourself then!" Adrian covered her mouth as a yawn escaped her unglossed lips. "_Mamá_ has an AP Calculus test to study for anyway." She moved into the living room where her AP Calc notes were scattered on the couch. From there she study comfortably while still keeping an eye on her daughter, who was stubbornly staring at the bowl of strawberries as if she were locked into some type of blinking contest.

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"There has got to be some sort of mistake!" George ranted. He was standing in District Attorney Ruben Enriquez's office desk with his arms flailing as though he was about to jump over it and tackle the D.A.

"George," Kathleen said, applying a hand to his shoulder. Although her voice was calm, there was something deadly in her silence that rivaled George's volcanic fury.

Grace cradled her son against her chest. "I don't understand how something like this can happen. How can anyone even _consider _giving him paternal rights?"

Ruben rubbed his forehead. "Grace, I have my best people looking into all the legal loopholes that they can, but in the eyes of the law, Grant is innocent until proven guilty. As Christian's biological father—"

"Screw that!" George yelled. "It takes a certain kind of man to be a father and someone who does what Grant did to Grace is sure as hell not that kind of man!"

"Be that as it may," Ruben continued, "the law still recognizes his paternal rights." He pulled a heavy tome from his bookshelf, licked the pad of his index finger, and began to flip through the pages. Eventually, he dropped it onto the desk in front of George and Kathleen, opened to _California Family Code, Section 3030(b)_. "The state of California does revoke visitation and custodial rights of men who have fathered children through rape, _but _we require a rape conviction to do so."

"So, _what?_" Grace demanded. "He can just walk into my life and take Christian whenever he pleases? What about the best interests of my child?"

"Extenuating circumstances can be argued in court," Ruben agreed, "but it's not a guarantee. Aside from your assault charges, Grant has a clean record _and_ his family is well off—"

"Meaning he can buy his way out of anything," George sneered.

"Meaning he can prove financial stability," Ruben corrected. "The court will see these as points in Grant's favor where Christian's best interests are concerned."

"And with all their money, what's to stop them from just skipping town with my son?" Grace demanded.

"I'm not trying to be cruel when I say this, Grace, but in my professional opinion, they are more likely to point out _your_ history of leaving town. However, in the worst case scenario, we can request that he has monitored visitation."

George slammed his fists onto the desk, causing the law book to jump despite its weight. "Haven't you been following?! This_ is_ the worst case scenario!"

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"Henry?" Ben asked as he sat down across the table from his best guy friend. He consulted his planning sheet and noted that he had a meeting with a _Hank M. _He pointed the notation out to Henry. "Ha. Ha."

"Well, I couldn't seem to pin you down long enough to talk to you outside of work," Henry defended himself.

"So you really don't need to see me about party planning?"

Henry shook his head. "No, I really _do_, it was just a good excuse. My dad's throwing my grandpa's eightieth birthday party in two weeks and I suggested having Boykewich Butchers cater it. We get the family discount, right Ben?" he winked.

Ben groaned. "Probably."

"Probably?"

"I mean, you and Alice have practically been family since third grade, so yeah, but my dad would have to okay it just to be sure. And that means I'll have to talk to him."

"And you're still not?"

"Nope."

"Damn, Ben, I don't think I know people who can hold grudges better than you and your dad. I sure hope I never end up on your bad side." Henry frowned. "Anyway, sorry, man. You don't have to, I was only kidding. Sort of."

Ben shook his head. "Don't worry about it, I'll send him a letter or something." He shrugged his shoulder. "How many for the party?" he asked, getting down to business.

Henry strummed his fingers. "Thirty-ish?" At Ben's look he added, "Hey, my granddad's old, he's got a lot of friends!"

"I bet." He scribbled down the number. "Do you have any food in mind?"

"Ribs. Definitely ribs. My dad's side of the family is big on ribs."

"I remember. Hot, right?"

"As hot as you can get."

"Anything else?"

"My grandpa really likes French dips and _au jus_. And my dad suggested maybe some sirloin kebobs, depending on how expensive things get."

Ben noted those requests as well.

"And perhaps a side of, 'What's going on in your life?'"

Ben looked up. "I'm working."

"Could we…step outside?"

Ben eyed Bunny, who was chatting up one of the regulars while another employee was busy with a new customer and three more customers were filed in line. "All right, but we better have a nice long list of orders for when Bunny inevitably comes out here and demands to know why I'm slacking off with my best friend instead of doing my job."

Henry eagerly stepped outside with Ben. They sat down at small table with an outdoor umbrella that was parked outside the front of the shop. "So you've been spending lunches with Adrian all week and the only time I ever seem to see you is in History. What gives, man?"

"Adrian and I have just been struggling this month."

"I thought you had things worked out since New Year's?"

"The electric bill fight is over, yeah, but money-wise things have just been really tight lately. We got into a fight Monday night because of the diapers I bought."

"How do you fight over diapers?"

"They're not the kind Adrian likes."

"She's really going to quibble about something like that?"

"She had a point," Ben sighed. "The diapers I ended up buying were cheap and they're constantly leaking, it's horrible! I wish she'd told me that because I thought I was doing a good thing by getting more for less. I've been afraid to try and go shopping again without her and she's been too busy to go by herself. We seem to be going out of everything at the same time."

"That's usually how it goes down."

"I guess I never realized how good I had it," Ben admitted. "My mom was a stay-at-home mom not because she had to be, but because she wanted to be and thanks to my dad, could afford to do so. And our fridge was _never _empty. I had breakfast delivered to my room on a silver platter. _Literally._"

Henry nodded, a silly grin on his face. "I remember," he sighed happily. "Those were great sleepovers. Actually, that's why Alice and I never let you come sleepover at our houses. No room service."

"I'm sorry about not sitting with you and Alice at lunch this week," Ben groaned. "It's just been really stressful and I've been trying to work out a budget and shopping plan that works with Adrian."

"I'm so glad my relationship with Alice doesn't take this much work."

"Wait 'til you're living together."

The bell above the door sounded as a customer left.

"Ben!"

Ben winced and turned slowly to see that Bunny had emerged after the customer and was filling the doorway with her hands on her hips. "Bunny?"

"Are you being paid to work or gossip?"

Ben picked up his notes and flashed them at Bunny. "Work, right Henry?"

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

Adrian's eyes were drooping as she flipped one of her handwritten note pages over. She yawned and pinched her cheek to help wake herself back up. "It's not even noon," she grumbled to herself. "You're young, you're not allowed to be this tired." But the truth was, she hadn't gotten much sleep all week, as she'd been worrying about shopping, money, scholarship applications, and work.

There was a reverberating clatter that startled Adrian, bursting her lull towards sleep, and entrapping her attention. She looked up to see Mercy's fruit bowl upside down on the tile floor, with a mess of strawberry juice on the white highchair tray, as well as Mercy's hands, arms, and face. Adrian pushed aside her work and got up to inspect her daughter. "You little monster," she said, grabbing and wetting the dish rag from the sink. She began to wipe down Mercy's hands and face.

"_¡No!"_ Mercy screamed. She flailed her hands and pulled at her mother's hair.

Frustrated, Adrian wiped down the tray and then grabbed Mercy by the wrist. She held her daughter's hand down to clean up the strawberry stains, repeating the same with the toddler's other hand. Finally she took the little girl's chin in her hand, holding it still despite Mercy's cries and screams of protest, and wiped her face down too. Frowning, she touched the back of her hand to her daughter's cheek, then touched it to her forehead.

"You're warm," she observed. "Is that why you've been cranky all morning? Are you coming down with something?" Receiving no answer, Adrian decided to rinse out the rag and leave it to dry on the neck of the faucet. She unhooked Mercy from her highchair and carried the screaming toddler down the hall to the bathroom, completely forgetting about the bowl and mess on the floor, and used the ear thermometer to take the little girl's temperature. Sure enough it came up as a low fever. "Okay, now you're worrying _Mamá_."

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"Yes?" Heather asked, striking a pose with her hand on her hip. She wore a knee-length royal purple dress with black trim and her dark red hair was rolled up into a bun, with a sheet on each side hanging down to tickle her bare shoulders. "No?"

Ashley shook her head. "Too fancy for a weekend party. Maybe if it wasn't being thrown by teenagers, but no such luck."

"And that hairstyle obstructs the view of your earrings," Ricky added.

"I like the shoes though," Ashley said, pointing to the glossy black slingbacks on Heather's feet.

Ricky turned away as soon as Heather began to strip off her dress. "Brother in the room!"

"You can handle it, Underwood. Ash, zipper?"

Ricky groaned as he heard the zipper peel down, the crunch of the fabric hit the floor, and the sliding of hangers in the closet. He finally turned around again when he heard another zipper and glowered at the simple black dress his friend was wearing, which had a sharp V-neck to the middle of her chest. "Too low-cut."

"I take back what I said about you being able to handle it."

"I think he's right though, _to an extent,_" Ashley said. "There are parties designed to be that sexy, but this probably isn't one of them."

Heather nodded in agreement. "Okay, okay, what about this?" She yanked out black one-shoulder mini dress with a series of green and white patterns snaking around the waist and up over her shoulder. She held it up to herself without changing. "Yay or nay?"

"Might as well try it on, it looks promising."

Heather held up her finger as Ricky opened his mouth. "And if you say it's too short, I'll stab you with this shoe," she said, sliding off her slingback and aiming the heel at him.

Ricky forced a smile and tapped his wrist. "Time's wasting."

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"…calls…Saturday…them bad news…goddamn…"

Grace was seated on the back porch with her son, her mother, and Moose, but she could still hear bits and pieces of George ranting to Tom from inside the house.

Moose laid down beside Grace's feet and covered his nose with his paws. He whimpered quietly.

Grace reached down to rub the dog's floppy ear.

"He does have a point," Kathleen said dejectedly. "If he was only going to give us bad news, why not call us down on a Monday or a Friday?"

"He's a busy man," Grace replied. "And we were the ones who kept calling him for answers. I guess he didn't want to keep us waiting."

"It just feels like false hope."

Grace stopped scrubbing Moose's ear. "I looked online," she said. "After I got those papers. It's happened before: there are men who pursue paternal rights to the children who are born from rape. And they get them! There are twenty-seven states who don't even have statutes to protect women like me from men like _him_."

"We—women—think we've come so far, yet this is still the reality of the world we live in."

Grace traced the edge of her sleeping son's face. "No matter what I do, he's going to be so influenced by the rest of our culture. I so badly want him to be better than that."

"I pray that your generation can change that tide. People like you and Adrian."

Grace cradled Christian against her chest. "Me too."

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

_Were R U?_

Ricky peered over his friend's shoulder as she sent her text. "Did you mean 'where'?"

"Shut up, Boy-Who-Didn't-Do-His-Own-Homework-For-His-First-T wo-Years-Of-High-School." Heather rolled her eyes. "Besides, do I look like anything other than a teenager to you? We don't care about typos."

"Some of us do," Toby, Ashley's boyfriend, announced brightly.

Ashley ribbed him. "Not you."

The cell phone vibrated in her hand and Heather opened the text.

_Meet us in the kitch._

"'Kitch'?" Ashley asked skeptically.

Simultaneously, Ricky remarked: "'Us'?"

"Are you going to say that's a typo too?" Heather asked, addressing Ricky.

"Maybe. Since when did 'Lisa' become 'us'? You never mentioned a 'them.'"

"You're turning into Margaret."

"You kind of are," Ashley agreed, snickering at her friend's irritation.

"Heather!" Ricky hissed, chasing behind her with a suspicious pit in his stomach. "You didn't–"

"_Heather!"_

Ricky stopped behind the redhead and stared at Lisa coming towards them.

"_Whoa,"_ Toby breathed.

Ricky shot a look at Ashley, but the sophomore hadn't seemed to have heard. He quietly leaned into Toby and whispered, "Just remember you came with _my friend_."

Toby nodded quietly and reached for Ashley's hand, though the latter slapped it away.

"And she's not much into handholding, if you didn't know," Ricky added amusedly. He looked back at Lisa, then worriedly switched his attention to the girl that was standing with her. He decided she was Brazilian, or at least she looked Brazilian-esq. "You _did!_" he seethed to Heather.

"Hey," Heather greeted Lisa smoothly, angling herself so as to avoid Ricky's baleful look. "You got a haircut." She leaned forward, using the topic as a segue into making a swift caress of Lisa's hair.

Ricky narrowed his eyes, impressed by his friend's smoothness. He knew that trick well.

"Ricky?" Lisa asked, arching an eyebrow at him but still looking at Heather.

Heather nodded. "Lisa, Ricky, Ricky, Lisa." She gestured towards her two people she'd come with. "And this right hand woman, Ashley—I've told you about her—and her boyfriend, Toby. Forgive anything he says, he's homeschooled."

"What's wrong with homeschooled?" Toby griped.

"Lucky," Lisa said. "I used to beg my parents to home school me. It's not easy growing up Sri Lankan American, but alas, they refused." She smiled pleasantly. "It's nice to meet all of you. I've been itching to see what Heather's B-F-Fs are like."

'B-F-Fs?' Ashley mouthed to Ricky.

Ricky shrugged.

Lisa then leaned towards the brunette lingering behind her. "And this is my friend Marsha."

"Hi," Marsha said distantly. Her smile was plastic and she repeated looked into a blue plastic cup that that had several lipstick impressions on the rim that matched the blotted mauve on her own lips.

"Nice to meet you," Ashley said, matching the girl's distance.

Toby offered his hand, first to Lisa and then to Marsha. "It's a pleasure."

Ashley rolled her eyes, but only Ricky seemed to notice.

"Hi," Ricky replied, noting her lack of interest in him. It was a relief.

Lisa looked conspiratorially at Heather. "Doesn't look like you've found the refreshments yet. Drink?"

"Non-alcoholic."

"Gotcha," Lisa winked. "Ash? Tobe? Wanna come with?"

Ashley grit her teeth. "Not really hungry."

"I'm a little thirsty–_ugh_–" Toby grunted as the heel of Ashley's shoe found the toe of his sneaker. "I'm fine!"

Lisa exchanged a look with Heather, then slung her arm around redhead's waist and pushed her into the crowd. "O-kay then, we'll be back shortly."

"Or not," Heather whispered as they walked away.

Marsha's shoulders plummeted as she watched them go and quickly lifted the cup to her lips, quelling the awkwardness with a temporary drink.

"Wanna dance?" Toby asked, affected most by the uncomfortable energy in the air.

Ricky noted the conflict on Ashley's face. "You came here to have fun," he sighed. "Go have fun with your boyfriend."

Ashley bit her lip and leaned into Ricky. "They're trying to set you up on a blind date."

"Got that," Ricky nodded.

"I'm not leaving you here on a blind date," she insisted.

"I appreciate that, but I think I can handle myself, thank you. But Heather is not getting off the hook for this one, I can_ promise_ you that."

Ashley looked between Toby and the kids dancing in the middle of the hardwood floor. She rubbed her left temple. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. Just…don't get too cozy with him, okay?"

Ashley mock glared. "Maybe we'll shag on the dance floor."

"Since when did you become British?"

"Since Toby made me suffer through an _Austin Powers_ marathon."

"And you're still with this guy?"

"I'm going to dance now," Ashley said before pulling Toby into the crowd.

Ricky snickered for a moment, until he sensed Marsha's eyes on him. He looked back at her and watched the muscles in her throat, but they didn't contract. "You don't have to pretend you're drinking that," he smirked.

Marsha pulled the cup away from her mouth and absently swirled the liquid around the inner walls of the cup as though she was aerating fine wine. "Just for the record, I didn't know this was a blind date until after I got here."

"That makes two of us."

"No offense," Marsha said, a grimace on her face, "but you're not really my type."

"Well I'm not that guy anymore," he said reflexively. "But for the record, I'm not looking."

"What guy?" Marsha asked, her eyes flitting up for the first time in interest.

"What?"

"What guy are you not anymore?"

Ricky studied her, but he didn't get the vibe that she was having him on. "I've got a reputation," he said flatly.

"Do you?" Marsha looked him up and down and swirled her cup again. "You might want to update your credentials then."

Ricky stared at Marsha as she shifted her bored eyes to the crowd, jumping from person to person as though she was playing _Where's Waldo?_ It suddenly occurred to him that maybe his reputation wasn't what it used to be; maybe it didn't even exist anymore in the mainstream. He'd been the Resident Bad Boy his freshman and sophomore years, the latter of which he'd met Adrian, but he hadn't been with Adrian since prior to Mercy's birth, and apart from a few fleeting sexual encounters with Zoe and the almost-relationship with Ashley, he hadn't really been with anyone since Adrian. It was almost startling. "No wonder Heather tried to hook me up," he blurted out.

Marsha looked at him again, this time more sympathetically. "Girl troubles?"

"Just one, but she hasn't been trouble in a while. I guess that_ is_ the trouble."

Marsha snorted and rimmed her cup with the pad of her thumb. "I know the feeling."

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

Ben pushed through the front door to the sound of a constant beep and the sight of Adrian on the couch, slumped over her AP Calculus notes. He smiled a little at her disheveled look and came over to wake her with a few well placed kisses.

Adrian groaned and her eyelashes fluttered.

"Wakey, wakey," Ben said. "Your phone alarm's going off."

"What?" Adrian groaned. She sat up to Ben holding her cell phone alarm in her face. "No!" Adrian gasped, shooting up from the couch. "What time is it? You're already home!" She grabbed her phone and looked at the time before Ben could answer and cursed loudly, bolting for the hallway.

"Adrian, what's wrong?" Ben asked, tailing her.

"I was supposed to check Mercy's temperature hours ago!"

"Temperature? When did she have a temperature?"

"Earlier this morning. She was throwing a fit after I got her up this morning and I thought it was just one of her normal brat toddler days, but after breakfast she was feeling a little warm, so I put her down for a nap."

"You didn't call the doctor?"

Adrian pushed the door to their daughter's room open. "It was a really low fever," she said. "They recommend you monitor those, but they don't necessarily need to be treated without other symptoms. I can't believe I fell asleep! _¡Estúpido!_"

"It's been a rough week," Ben argued as he leaned over Mercy's crib and scooped up his daughter.

Adrian flicked on Mercy's _Dora the Explorer_ lamp.

"Adrian!" Ben gasped.

Adrian's face fell as she saw what looked like a 3-D sunburn spread across Mercy's sleepy face.

"She's burning up!" Ben shouted as he touched his daughter's forehead. He shoved past his girlfriend.

Adrian charged out the bedroom door, right on his heels.

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"Lisa?" Ricky asked, it suddenly it dawning on him as he looked over his shoulder in the direction Marsha was staring: the refreshments table, where he could see Heather and Lisa talking, giggling, and clinking plastic cups.

"That obvious?"

"Took me until now to catch on. But really?" he asked. "'Kitch' Lisa?"

Marsha let out a laugh, completely uninhibited. "Okay, you're right," she said. "Lisa is a little…odd. She's got some immature school girl mannerisms that take a while to get used to and for some people they're a turnoff–"

"But not for you."

Marsha shook her head. "We met in the GSA. You could say it was my foray into sexuality. She was the gay, I was the straight, but the alliance isn't exactly what I was hoping for."

"Heather," Ricky sighed.

"Yeah. Well, I'd _like_ to blame Heather, but the truth is I wouldn't have come to terms with my feelings if she hadn't been there to insight my jealousy." She motioned her cup in the direction of their oblivious friends.

"I'm sorry," Ricky said sincerely.

Marsha's Hershey colored bangs flitted just above her eyes as she shook her head. "If you care about someone, the best thing you can want is their happiness, right?"

Ricky was silent for a time as the music on the radio changed. He noticed Lisa and Heather set their cups on the edge of the refreshments table and slip out into the thrum of people pumping to the music. As he began to look around the room he noticed an African American girl who kept peering up from the group she was with to look in his and Marsha's direction. "You know her?" he asked nonchalantly.

"Geena?"

Ricky shrugged. "I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say GSA?"

Marsha looked at Geena and caught the latter looking back, then she side eyed Ricky. "She's–"

"Checking you out."

A rouge crept into Marsha's cheeks.

"Maybe you should go talk to her?"

"I–" Marsha looked at Lisa again, but the latter was grinding up Heather. "I'm not even out yet."

"Doesn't mean you can't talk to her…and come on, you have to admit…"

Marsha nodded. "She's in track."

"I'd track that if I were you."

Marsha snickered. "That's not funny."

Ricky grinned.

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"There are plenty of girls eyeing you."

"And?"

"Aren't you going to talk to any of them?"

It was Ricky's turn to roll his eyes.

"Really," Marsha insisted.

"I guess I've learned to tune it out."

"Has anyone ever told you that you're incredibly arrogant?"

"Many times."

"I should've seen that coming."

"A little, yeah."

"All right, Arrogance, I'll make you a deal: I'll go talk to Geena if you go talk to…" She clicked her tongue against her teeth as her eyes tap danced around the room and then she directed her cup at a slender Filipina girl that Ricky didn't recognize. "Her."

Ricky looked at the girl Marsha had pointed out and sighed internally. Externally, he flashed a smile, which she promptly returned and then she began to approach him. Internally, he recoiled, but he felt a kinship for Marsha and desired to help her out. "Okay," he said to Marsha, "better get going."

Marsha raised her plastic cup and smiled.

Ricky held up his hand, clinking her cup with an imaginary one of his own. He sucked in a breath as the Filipina came within talking distance.

"You wanna dance?"

Ricky glanced back at Marsha, who seemed to be laughing at something that Geena had said. He returned his attention to the Filipina. "Sure," he said, hoping his voice didn't give away his real answer. As he stepped into the crowd, he noticed Geena tugging on Marsha's arm and playfully pointing to the dance floor, then his eyes swept to Ashley and Toby who were so close that Ricky wondered if George might spontaneously pop up to separate them, and finally he looked to Heather and Lisa who were in their own little pocket universe. He turned his eyes back to the girl in front of him and tried to remember how this went. "So, what's your name?"

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"Mr. and Mrs. Lee?"

"We're not married," Adrian said as she lifted her head from the edge of Mercy's hospital bed.

"My apologies," Dr. Liu replied. She took a stance beside Ben and shook the hand that he offered.

"Ben Boykewich."

Dr. Liu nodded. "Ms. Lee, Mr. Boykewich," she amended, "you're daughter is going to just fine, but we'd like to keep her overnight for observation. She had quite a severe allergic reaction and although the medicine we've given her seems to be doing its job, there was quite a lapse in time between the initial symptoms and her treatment, so we'd like to play on the safe side here."

"Wait, I thought she was just sick?"

Dr. Liu shook her head. "That was definitely an allergy. We'll have to run tests to confirm, but I'd theorize it was caused by the strawberries."

"But Adrian said she refused to eat them."

"While I was watching," Adrian said. "I – I guess she could've eaten some before she threw the bowl on the floor. She did have the strawberry juice all over herself."

"And she's never been fed strawberries prior?"

Ben shook his head and looked to his girlfriend, who did the same.

"It's always a good idea to monitor a child when she or he eats something for the first time, just in case it does cause an allergic reaction. Not all allergic reactions show up immediately, there are even cases where allergies spontaneously develop to a food someone has been eating for years and then disappear again years later, but it helps in getting a better idea of what might have caused the reaction."

"So do we really need to run tests then?" Ben asked.

"Speaking as a parent, I would, but I can't make that decision for you; you have to decide what you think is best."

Adrian looked at Ben, her face crestfallen, and nodded.

Ben nodded as well. "Run the test."

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

Ricky stood in front of the kitchen counter Sunday morning, pouring a glass of orange juice as he waited for the toaster to pop his bagel halves.

"Lisa invited me to the V-Day dance."

"Good for you," he said as he returned the juice to the fridge.

"What about you?" Heather asked.

"What about me?"

"I saw you getting cozy with someone last night."

"Her name was Nanette and we were just dancing. She doesn't even go to Grant."

Heather shrugged as the toaster popped and she stole one of the bagel halves. "Are you going to the dance?" she out of curiosity.

"I was."

"But not now?"

"I've lost my entourage."

Heather smeared a heavy helping of cream cheese onto the cinnamon raisin bagel slice. "The three of us can still go together. It'll just be the four of us."

"Five," Ricky corrected.

"Ash is bringing Toby?"

"'Tobe,' as Lisa's dubbed him."

"Don't be hatin'," Heather said, ribbing her friend. "She likes nicknames."

"What's yours?"

"Not telling."

"It must be bad," Ricky smirked. He sat down across from Heather. "Anyway, yes, I figure the four of you can go on a double date. Toby can have my ticket."

"Don't be an ass. You're coming. End of."

Ricky noted the post-date afterglow on her face and bit into his bagel slice, deciding not to contradict her.

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"I can't believe you didn't call the doctor from the start."

"Ben, we've been over this: if I had known it was an allergic reaction, I would have!"

Ben slammed the front door behind himself. "You could have at least called me to let me know about the fever."

"I didn't know it was serious!" Adrian seethed. She was grinding her teeth to keep from yelling and waking up the toddler in her arms.

"We're supposed to be communicating, Adrian!"

Adrian turned on her heel. "I'm not having this conversation right now, Ben. I'm putting Mercy to bed."

"Adrian!" Ben stomped his foot as she disappeared into Mercy's room. He shrugged off his coat and threw it haphazardly over the back of the couch. He sat down amongst Adrian's AP Calculus notes and noticed Mercy's highchair in the kitchen. His eyes dropped to the floor, where the mess with the bowl and dried strawberries were still lying from the previous morning. He got up to clean up the mess, but when he kneeled down and picked up the overtuned bowl, he stopped, stared at the strawberries, and recalled the bulging hives almost the same color as the fruit on his daughter's skin. He stared at the bowl for a moment and then hurled it against the kitchen wall.


	6. Don't Go Out There

**A/N: **I had such a difficult time with this chapter, I kept reworking it because it wasn't what I wanted it to be. I think I'm much happier with it now than when I wrote the first three drafts.

_**Turning Tables**_

**Don't Go Out There**

"What's this?" Heather asked as she picked up a booklet off the floor of Ricky's car on their way to school. The booklet had already been opened and semi-stuck in that way, presumably having been folded like that for a while.

"It's nothing," Ricky said as he attempted to snatch the booklet from her.

"It doesn't look like 'nothing,'" Heather said as she leaned to the far side of her seat and out her knees up to shield the booklet from Ricky. She unfurled the booklet so that she could see the cover. "Valley Glen Community College. Hey, this says it's the course book for the spring semester, you got the wrong one."

"I didn't get the wrong one," Ricky groaned. "They don't have the fall semester courses out yet. I thought looking at the spring classes might at least give me an idea of the courses they offer."

"Do you have any idea what classes you want to take?"

"No. I have no idea what I want to do with my life beyond high school."

Heather rubbed her hand over the cover. "To tell you the truth, neither do I. I'm relieved it's you graduating this year and not me. College if goddamn terrifying!"

Ricky laughed. "You don't have to convince me of that. It used to seem so far away and now it's at my doorstep. I don't know what happened."

"Did you find anything that looks promising?" Heather asked, flipping through the pages.

"I highlighted a couple classes. I'm thinking I might declare a general studies and just do the prereqs for the first year or two while I figure things out."

"That buys you a little time."

"I need to check out the professors though."

"You can do that?"

"Rate My Professor," Ricky said. "It's a website, you've never heard of it? There's one for high school teachers too. I used to use it to find all the easy teachers my first few years of high school."

"What?" Heather glared. "How come I didn't have this knowledge beforehand? Outrageous!" She rolled up the booklet and swatted the dashboard as if she was killing a fly. "Wait, 'used to'? Don't tell me you don't anymore."

Ricky smirked. "I do, but only to weed out the bad teachers. I don't use it to be a lazy ass."

Heather slapped Ricky's thigh with the booklet. "Whatever you say, Underwood."

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"I just got off the phone with hospital billing," Adrian said as she walked into the bedroom where Ben was still wrapped in his towel while searching through the dresser drawers. She threw a lined yellow notepad onto the dresser over a pair of his white socks and crossed her arms.

Ben abandoned his search in the drawers and took note of the handwriting on the notepad. His eyes swelled. "What?!"

"Yeah," she confirmed. "Even _with_ insurance."

"But–"

"We can't afford it, I already know."

"There has to be a mistake!"

"I had them check twice."

"How are we supposed to pay that?"

"Savings, I guess."

"We're already digging into our savings, this will eat them up completely!"

"Well we can't ask our parents."

"Does it all have to be paid at once?"

"They mentioned something about a billing plan, but I don't know if that means they'll charge us interest or not and I didn't have time to wait on hold for another because I still have to get ready for school too. Since we're_ communicating_, I just wanted to let you know."

Ben opened his mouth, but Adrian was already slamming the door on him. He dropped his chin to his chest and stared at the numbers on the notepad in dismay.

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

_Grab your sweetie and come dance in the stars on February 14! Tickets on sale now!_

Grace rolled her eyes at the pamphlet tacked to the bulletin board announcing the school's annual Valentine's Day dance. All week the cheerleaders had been hard at work trying to sell tickets for the dance and Grace tried to imagine how it would be if she was still on the squad.

"Grace?"

The blonde whirled around, her hair spinning like a skirt in a ritual dance, and found Jason standing behind her. "Jason! You startled me. Hi."

"Hi."

Grace quickly stepped away from the bulletin board and began to head in the direction of her locker. "How are you?"

"Good, good," Jason nodded. "Yourself?"

Grace smiled distantly and began to enter in her locker combination. "Hanging in there."

"I heard–" He stopped.

"You heard what?"

Jason shut his mouth, as if he realized he'd made a mistake. "I, uh, I heard you weren't going to the dance."

"What dance?" she said, pretending not to know what he was talking about.

"The Valentine's Day dance." He rolled his eyes. "The 'Dancing with the Stars' dance? I guess they modeled this year's theme after that stupid reality show."

"Oh," Grace shrugged. "I wouldn't know."

"So you're not going then?"

Grace stared into her locker. "Are you?"

"I haven't asked anyone yet. Lauren's going though. One of the guys on the team asked her, Jesse. He asked me first though."

"He asked _you_?"

Jason laughed. "I mean he asked me about asking her! He didn't want to step on my toes."

"Oh." Grace nodded. "Well, that's nice of him, I guess."

Jason rubbed the hallow of his neck. "You wouldn't want to go, would you?"

Grace held her breath inside her locker so Jason couldn't see her face. She was afraid that's where the conversation was leading. Finally she pulled herself out, gathered up the books for her first class, and shut the door with a metal clang. "Jason, I'm flattered, I really am, but…I'm sorry."

"I didn't mean – I wasn't trying to pressure you," he said. "I just thought, maybe…as friends?"

"To a _Valentine's_ dance?"

Jason smiled weakly. "Right. Sorry, stupid idea."

"I'm sorry," Grace repeated. "If it was another time–"

"I get it. No harm," he said.

"I hope you find someone to go with."

"Yeah."

Grace waited for him to say something else, but he didn't, so she bowed her head. "Well, I have to get going. I – it was nice seeing you, Jason."

"Tell Christian I said 'hello.'"

"I will." Grace hurried up the stairs, even though her first class was on the first floor, and found her way into the girls' bathroom. She stood in front of the sink and noted her flushed reflection in the mirror. She slammed her fists against the frame of the sink in frustration.

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"What do you mean they're not refundable?"

"It says on the back of the ticket, 'non-refundable.' I'm sorry, but you agreed to that when you handed over your money."

Ben slammed the envelope containing the Valentine's Day dance tickets on the desk. "That's ridiculous! What if people's plans change? What if things come up? Why can't you be more flexible about this?"

"The school dance tickets help raise money for the school. Our funding gets cut every year and we have to make money somehow, so I'm sorry, but we can't refund your tickets."

"Look, I bought these tickets when I thought I could afford them, but now my girlfriend and I are fighting—over money—and we can't afford them!"

The Grant High cheerlead pushed her shoulders back and silently folded her hands over one another. "I'm sorry, but there's nothing I can do. Now, do I need to get someone from the office to explain this to your or–"

Ben held up his hand to silence her. "I'm going. Thanks for nothing!"

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

Jason looked at Adrian as she sat down in the seat across the aisle from him. "Ready for this exam?"

"Is anyone ready for an AP Calculus exam?" Adrian retorted.

"Math geeks."

"What I wouldn't trade to be a math geek right now."

Jason chuckled. "It's criminal that we couldn't at least have until Friday. Aren't most exams given on a Friday?"

"Maybe we could analyze that decision for our next AP Psych project?"

"That reminds me: we need to contact the other members of our group about that. Isn't our group presentation coming up in a couple weeks?"

"I think you're right. I've only gotten as far as the annotated bib. Probably because I keep getting distracted with my daughter's messy bib."

Jason chuckled. "You're farther than I."

Adrian threw her head back as the teacher walked in. "My To-Do List is endless."

"I can e-mail everyone tonight for a status report if you're busy."

"Oh, would you?" Adrian smiled.

"I've got it covered. I'm sure you've got enough on your plate as is."

Adrian smiled gratefully. "Thanks, Jason."

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"You look a bit rough for wear today."

"What makes you say that?"

"We have three out of four classes together," Amy said as she trotted beside Ben. "I think I can safely make that deduction."

"It's just been a stressful week."

"Anything I can do to help?"

"Not unless you've got an extra pot of gold lying around."

"Sorry, I missed the last rainbow."

Ben laughed. "Yeah, me too."

"Can you believe it's already February? We only have like four more months of school left. It seems like this semester just started last week. And after that–"

"Adrian graduates."

"I was going to say 'it's summer and then our senior year,' but yeah, that too."

"I don't know what we're going to do," Ben ranted. "Living together was supposed to prepare us for this, but instead we're fighting again. I just wish she'd told me about Mercy."

"Mercy?" Amy stopped walking. "Is something wrong with Mercy?"

Ben stopped too, realizing too late that he'd said too much. "It's – it's nothing," he lied. "Just something stupid that happened over the weekend. Mercy's fine."

"But you're not. Adrian never mentioned–"

"When did you talk to Adrian?"

Amy abruptly shut her mouth. "At the food court," she half lied. "I saw her at The Scoop the other day."

Ben narrowed his eyes. "She never mentioned that."

"Well, she never mentioned Mercy either," Amy rambled. "But then again, why would she? We just spoke in p-p-passing."

Ben made a mental note of the odd stutter, but didn't comment on it. "We're going to be late for class if we don't get a move on."

"Yeah," Amy said, walking again and eager to shift the subject away from her and Adrian. "Wouldn't want to do that."

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

After school Grace sat on her bed with her earphones in her ears turned to the max volume and her homework on her lap. She was scribbling the answers down on a Psychology worksheet, but Christian's screaming could be heard over the sound of her iPod music. She was pressing her pencil onto the paper so hard that the lead finally snapped, leaving a long gray streak across the page. She finally threw her homework across her bed, yanked her earbuds out of her ears, and picked up her crying son from his bassinet.

The tears running down the teenager's face matched her son's by the time she burst into the living room in the main house, where her mother and George were watching television. "Can you _please_ watch him, Mom? No matter what I do he won't stop crying! I've changed him, fed him, burped him, rocked him…he just won't stop! And I can't concentrate and I have so much homework!"

Kathleen met Grace in the middle of the living room and extracted her sobbing grandson from her daughter's shaking arms. "It's okay, sweetie." She tucked a strand of tear soaked hair behind Grace's ear. "George and I will take care of Christian, you take care of you."

Grace sniffed and wiped her nose with her sleeve. "Thank you." When she got back to her room and the blessed silence it provided, she immediately looked to the bassinet and felt guilty. She picked up an unfolded newspaper on her dresser, stared at it, and set it back down. Her mind turned to Grant's custody papers, which she immediately retrieved from one of her dresser drawers. She couldn't get Ruben's words out of her head and wondered what else the Volbergs might be able to use to show that she wasn't up to the task of motherhood and that Grant should be awarded joint custody.

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

Ricky's bat cracked against the last ball from the pitching machine and it flew into the wire mesh of the batting cage. He'd been at the batting cages for hours and his muscles felt like someone had poured acid on them. He propped his bat up against the wall and collapsed onto the small bench inside the cage. There was a foul odor somewhere nearby and he hesitantly lifted his arm and sniffed a bit of his shirt pinched between his thumb and forefinger. Ricky recoiled as the stench of sweat permeated his nostrils.

He hunched over and pulled out a duffle bag from beneath the bench, extracted a bottled water, and drank it like a coca-cola commercial. After he was done he dropped the bottle back into the bag and yanked out a fresh shirt. He proceeded to strip off his sweat laden baseball shirt, wipe his armpits with the balled up shirt, and slide his arms and torso into the fresh one. Ricky glanced up as he heard whistles from a couple of girls that were passing by, but he had no interest in pursuing or even so much as acknowledging them.

As he once again leaned over to shove the dirty t-shirt into his duffle, the edge of his community college booklet popped out between the zipper. He pulled it out as he shoved the shirt in and leaned back against the chain linked wall to flip through the courses. He had already highlighted an English course and a core humanities course about five pages apart, as they were core requirements, but then his eyes began to drift towards headings for elective options.

As he peered over the music courses, his finger stopped at _Music 125: History of Rock Music_. He did a double take. "They offer that in college?" In lieu of his highlighter, Ricky bent the corner of the page down into a triangle shape and decided to see what other opportunities community college was offering that he'd never heard of before.

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"Hey, Ben, what's up? I thought you were working today?"

"I am, but I'm on break right now. Look, Henry, I need to ask you something: how would you and Alice like some tickets to the Valentine's Day dance on Monday? I will even sell them to you at a discount!"

"Sorry, Ben, Alice already bought our tickets."

Ben groaned.

"Aren't you going with Adrian?"

"We need the money more than we do the date."

"Hate to break it to you, but twenty bucks you paid for the tickets isn't going to put a dent in that hospital bill. Especially if you're trying to sell them at a discount."

"I know," Ben sighed. "I'm just trying to make ends meet."

"Never thought I'd see the day when I'd hear a Boykewich say that."

"Stop mocking me while I'm vulnerable."

"Hey, man, that's what friends are for. But I gotta go, I think I hear the doorbell ringing. Talk to you later, man!"

Ben dejectedly closed his phone and stared at the tickets laid out on the break room table.

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"And where have you been?" Margaret asked as Ricky came down the stairs to his bedroom, hours later than he should have.

The teenager jumped, slipping on the step but saved himself with his grip on the railing. "What are you doing in my room?"

"Waiting up. Now, are you going to answer my question? You missed dinner."

"I sent a text."

"I know, you should've called, and just for the record: it doesn't help when you send a text to your father who you know is busy at work until the late evening, if not after." Margaret gave him a sharp look.

"I was at the college."

"The college?"

"VGCC. I – I just wanted to see if they'd come out with their fall catalog yet."

"And did they?"

Ricky shook his head.

"So, you're seriously thinking about college then?"

"Isn't that what you and dad have always wanted?"

"Well of course it is!" Margaret said as if she was slightly offended. "But it has to come down to you. If you wanted to take another path, we'd want to know, and we'd want to support you in whatever you choose."

Ricky took a seat next to his mother. "Well that's what I've been thinking about," he said. "I don't know what I want to do yet, so don't ask, but…I'm just sorry it's not the university. I'm sorry my grades weren't good enough for that."

"What does that mean?"

"I know getting into a university is better than community college–"

"You can stop right there!" Margaret scolded. "A lot of people attend community college. It's no less than university education." She smiled and gave him a cheeky wink. "It just happens to be a whole lot less expensive. Many people even choose to get their associates completed at community colleges and then transfer onto universities to get their bachelors to save money."

"Really?"

"Really. It just means we get to watch you graduate twice. Well, three times, counting high school. _If_ that's what you choose to do." Margaret stood up and patted her son's knee. "How was the campus, by the way?"

"I didn't say I stayed to look."

"You were gone too long to have only popped in to check for their catalog."

"It's bigger than I imagined. I didn't even get to see all of it because it started to get dark."

"Do you think you can see yourself there this fall?"

"Maybe."

Margaret ascended the stairs with a sly smile. "Goodnight, Ricky."

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"Are you awake?" There was silence and Ben waited for a while. "Adrian?" He rolled over in the dark, attempting to see his girlfriend, but he was pretty sure all he could make out was the shape of her back and shoulders in the darkness. "Adrian?"

"What?" she snapped.

"I was just wondering if you were asleep."

"How can I sleep if you're dead set on talking all night long?"

Ben bit his tongue to remain calm. "I've been having trouble sleeping too."

"At least you don't have someone talking your ear off at all hours of the night."

"I tried to get our money back on the tickets for the dance, but they wouldn't take them." Ben felt Adrian jerk under the covers.

There was a long silence and then: "Oh."

Ben forced himself to swallow. "I know you don't want to think about it and I don't either, but if we can barely get through one month, how are we supposed to get through college the way we're going? There's tuition and books and gas and–"

"Do we have to talk about this now?"

"When else can we talk about it?"

"When I don't have two tests in six hours."

Ben rolled over again. "I wish I'd never bought those goddamn strawberries," he whispered. "Then you never would've been able to feed them to her in the first place."

Although she couldn't see it, the pillowcase touching Adrian's cheek felt cool and damp. She pulled her night shirt up over her nose to blot her nostrils. Her eyes closed time and again, but each time they shut, all she could see were the red hives on Mercy's skin and the red numbers of the ER visit she owed at the bottom of the bill.

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

Grace was waiting on the front porch with Moose when the Friday paper came the next morning. She shook it out of the bag and quickly rifled through the pages until she found what she was looking for: "He's done another one!"

Moose rubbed his head against Grace's bare leg in support.

Grace threw open the front door and barged into the kitchen where Tom and George were fixing breakfast and Kathleen was seated at the table, feeding Christian his bottle. The teenager threw the paper down on the table and pointed an accusatory finger at it. "Those KZAB interviews he did back in May just weren't enough for him. The last _three_ mornings his disgusting face has been in the paper, he just can't get enough of telling 'his' side of the 'story!' He's trying to get public sympathy to make me look like the bad one."

George skirted around Grace with oven mitts still on his hands and picked up the paper. "You are 'refusing' to let him see 'his son'?!" He spat, before throwing the paper back down. "Grace, I think you should go to the press yourself if this is how that little monster wants to play it." He looked at his girlfriend for backup. "Don't you think so, Kat?"

Kathleen shook her head. "I don't know, George. The press plays dirty. We don't want anything Grace or any of us might say to be misconstrued for the purpose of a headline."

Grace nodded slowly. "And I don't want to sink to his level."

"But you're the one telling the truth! You're the victim here, not him!"

"I don't like that word," Grace winced. "I learned in group that there are a lot better things to call ourselves than that. I prefer 'survivor.'"

George peeled the mitts off his hands and set them on the table beside the newspaper. He pulled a chair around next to his girlfriend and took a seat, resigned. "I'm sorry," he said. "It's sixteen days before the trial and I'm so angry…and I just want to help! But I don't know what to do. What do I do?"

Tom crossed the kitchen to George's side and patted the elder man on the shoulder. "You _are_. By being dere for m' sis'er an' nephew. Righ' Grace?"

Grace inclined her head. "Right, Tom."

Tom pulled his sister into a well deserved hug. "We gonna get 'im!"

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

Ben sat at the table with an opened can of peaches in light syrup and a fork. He was eating one of the speared peach slices while his girlfriend was on the phone beside him, taking notes on the same yellow notepad she'd slapped down in front of him in their bedroom the day before. He was trying to listen to the voice on the other end of the line, but it just sounded like a SIMS character to him.

Eventually Adrian hung up and smacked her cell phone onto the napkin beside her coffee. She stabbed the notepad with her pen. "I was right, they will charge us interest if we choose a payment plan option."

"Then we just pay it in full."

"And be broke."

"Mercy comes first," Ben said. "I don't want our bills sent to collectors and I don't want to have to pay anymore than necessary. So I think we should just bite it and pay the medical bill from our savings."

"And what about the next emergency?" Adrian asked. "What will happen the next time she's sick? Or I'm sick? Or you're sick? Or we crash our cars or–"

Ben stood up and hushed Adrian's rant with a kiss.

Adrian angrily pushed him away and her eyes began to glisten. "You can't just solve everything with kissing and sex, Ben. This is the real world! And it fucking sucks."

Ben slapped the palm of his hand on the tabletop. "Damnit, Adrian! What do you want me to do? _What?_ Tell me! It seems like everything I do you criticize! I pay the electric bill without telling you and you're mad. If I'd told you it was overdue, then you would've been mad anyway! You ask me to buy diapers and I do, but then they're not the right kind and they leak, so you're mad! You ask me my opinion on paying Mercy's medical costs and I tell you, then you get mad! I can't win!"

"And you keep blaming me for making her sick in the first place! I didn't know she was allergic to strawberries, okay?! How would I know that?"

"I never blamed you!"

"Yes!" Adrian cried. "You did! You blamed me the night it happened and you blamed me again last night when you said you wish you'd never bought the strawberries so I wouldn't have fucked up! I'm so goddamn stressed and tired. It's my senior year and I'm working and I'm a mother and I'm your girlfriend and now you're blaming me for hurting our daughter! I didn't know. I didn't know!" Adrian grabbed the notepad from the table and threw it into the living room.

Screams began to permeate the hallway, coming from Mercy's open door.

"Great!" Ben shouted. "Now you've woken her up!"

"And there you go again! It's my fault, mine, because I'm a _terrible_ mother. Fine!" Adrian shrieked. "Since you're so much better at being a parent than I am, _you_ get her up and _you _give her breakfast that won't send her to the hospital!"

"I never said you were a terrible mother!"

"You didn't have to! There's such a thing as implication, look it up!" Adrian barged through the living room and out the front door, slamming it as hard as she could behind herself.


	7. Cute As A Bug

**A/N: **It's past midnight, which means the show officially ends today! It's about time, 'eh?

_**Turning Tables**_

**Cute As A Bug**

"What is this?" Grace asked as she entered the kitchen. In her right hand was a white envelope. When she turned it around the back read: _Do not open! Go straight to the kitchen._

Kathleen was sitting at the breakfast table. She picked up a white envelope identical to her daughter's and revealed the same message on the back of hers. "It's George's handwriting."

Tom suddenly burst in wearing a chef's uniform. He nudged his sister toward the table. "Si' down! Si' down!"

"Tom, are you and George conspiring?" Kathleen asked her son knowingly.

Tom grinned and pressed his finger to his lips. "Shhh! Today is abou' beau'iful la'ies! Si' down, si' down!" he pulled out a chair and motioned for Grace to seat herself in it, refusing to budge until she did.

Grace looked at her mother suspiciously. "Are you sure you didn't know anything about this?"

Kathleen shook her head. "George left early this morning and when I woke up I found this tucked into a bouquet of roses over my alarm clock."

"Mine was stuck to a tootsie pop bouquet on my nightstand."

"Should we open them?" Kathleen mused, turning the envelope over.

Tom suddenly ran back from the stove and snatched away the envelopes. "No!" He pointed to the writing on the back. "Do no' open!" he scolded.

Grace held up her hands defensively. "O-kay then!"

A few minutes later they heard the front door open, followed by Moose's barking. Kathleen looked towards the entrance to the kitchen, expecting to get some answers. Instead she was shocked to see Ashley and Amy walk in. "G-good morning," she said, almost as though she was asking a question.

Amy smiled bashfully. "Hi…"

"Do you know what's going on?" Grace asked.

Amy shook her head and held up an envelope that matched Grace's and Kathleen's. "Dad woke us up early this morning, gave us these, and said he was taking us over here. We were wondering why he didn't pick us up yesterday, it was supposed to be our weekend with him."

In the corner of the kitchen, Ashley was ignoring the other women and busying herself playing with Moose.

"Where _is_ your father?" Kathleen asked.

"He said he needed to get something out of the trunk." Amy pulled out a chair and sat down beside Grace. "He mentioned something about breakfast–"

"Brea'fast i' on its way!" Tom singsonged.

"Can I go out in the back with Moose?" Ashley spoke up.

Kathleen nodded immediately. "Yeah, of course, Ashley! There are some tennis balls out back if you want to play fetch, Moose loves that."

"Dad told us to wait in the kitchen," Amy argued.

"It's fine," Kathleen said. "Tom's barely started breakfast."

Ashley shot her sister a smug look. "Moose, this way!"

Moose barked in approval and chased after Ashley as she ran out of the kitchen.

Almost as soon as the back door shut, the sound of the front door opening could be heard and George popped into the kitchen. "Good morning!" He paused at the three pairs of eyes staring back at him. "What, no 'good morning, George'?"

Amy folded her arms. "Good morning, George."

Grace pursed her lips to keep from laughing.

"Honey, what's going on?"

George strode up to his girlfriend and kissed her. He suddenly reached up his sleeve and pulled out a blue daisy by the stem and slid it behind Kathleen's ear. "Where's Ash?"

"She went out to play with Moose," Amy supplied.

"I said it was okay," Kathleen added.

George nodded. "Well then she's going to miss out on hearing about what I have planned today for the four favorite women in my life!"

"And what's that?" Kathleen grinned.

George motioned to the envelopes on the table. "You may now open your envelopes." He turned to Tom and gave him a thumbs up, which the young man returned.

Grace peeled open her envelope carefully and shook out the contents. She blinked in surprise.

"A spa package gift certificate?"

"Where did you get these?" Kathleen asked.

"_How_ did you get them?" Amy chimed in.

"Well I didn't steal them, if that's what you're implying."

"No, but…isn't something like this really expensive? How did you manage to get each of us one?" Grace asked. "Not that I'm not grateful, because I am, but…how?"

George beamed. "I've been thinking about how I could help you relax since that talk we had last week and then lo and behold, the daughter of the Valley Spa owner comes waltzing into my shop looking to furniture her grandmother's new duplex and I offered her a trade: furniture for some spa passes. The next day I get a call from her dad and bam! That's why I couldn't pick you girls up yesterday," he said, looking at Amy, "I was ironing out the details down at Valley Spa and then I had to help haul all that furniture over to Mrs. Mark's place."

"This is really cool, Dad. Thank you."

Grace nodded. "Thanks, George."

Kathleen got up and worked her arms around George's neck. She kissed him a few times. "Thank you, honey."

George kissed the top of Kathleen's nose. "Baby, are you ever so welcome."

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"What are you gonna do, man?"

Ben sat on the sofa with his head back, staring at the ceiling. "I went to the bank on Friday and I tried to apply for a credit card, but they denied me."

"Why?"

"No credit history."

"But you've been working, so you've got a steady income. Doesn't that count?"

"That's what I said, but the woman at the bank said that's only part of what the credit card companies consider. A large chunk is that they want you to have an established credit history."

"That's the biggest catch twenty-two I've ever heard! How can you get a credit history if you're denied any initial credit?"

"She suggested I apply for a store credit card. Like Mervyn's or Kohl's. They're apparently easier to get and when you pay your bills on time it reflects well and begins to establish a history."

"But you were trying to get a credit card to help you pay your existing bills, not to get more bills."

"No-win situation," Ben said. He looked at his watch and pushed up from the couch. "I have to get to work," he groaned. "But thanks for spending the night. I needed the company of someone who doesn't blow spit bubbles."

"Hey, remember that time we made the spit bubbles with the toothpaste–"

Ben snorted. "Alice was so grossed out!"

"We should do that again some time," Henry laughed. "Maybe when Mercy's older?"

"I'll pencil it in," Ben agreed. He walked his friend to the door.

"Where's Adrian, by the way? I thought your parents' places were off limits?"

Ben shrugged. "I tried to call her after she stormed out of the house—again—but she refused to answer her phone. I figured she'd be home eventually, but she just sent me a text that said she was fine but that she wasn't coming home. The tension in the house since the hospital has been so thick, it's like wading through syrup every minute."

"Syrup's good."

"Yeah, but too much of it just makes you sick."

"I hope things improve."

"Me too."

"I'll catch up with you later!"

Ben nodded and shut the door behind his friend. He checked the time again and realized he wasn't going to have time to feed Mercy before he left for work, so he'd have to ask Briella to do that when she arrived. He cursed himself as he headed down the hall to the bathroom and turned on his morning shower, which he'd have to cut in half.

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

By the time Adrian woke up, she realized her phone had died during the night, so she hadn't been awoken by her cellular alarm. She cursed the device as she sat up and one of Mercy's baby blankets fell off her shoulders. She was again sitting on the rooftop of her old apartment building—her old, _old_ apartment building—which she hadn't been back to since May 2010, less than a year ago.

"I'm stupid, aren't I?" she asked the breeze. "When things get hard, here I come running to you, and you aren't even here to wrap me up in your arms." Adrian pushed a second baby blanket off her legs and stood up, shivering a little. "But sometimes the pressure just becomes so much that it feels like someone's crushing my lungs with their bare hands. It was never that way with you. It was always so warm and comfortable and easy. I thought that's what love was. I thought it would be the same with Ben." She laughed bitterly. "For a minute, I even thought I could have that with Ricky. But no, it was always you. It was only you, Antonio."

Adrian paced the perimeter of the rooftop three times before she returned to the blankets fluttering on the ground and knelt down to fold them up. It was Sunday morning and she knew Ben had work, but she didn't know what time it was. She did know that she needed to be there to watch Mercy though, otherwise Ben would have to call in Briella and they'd have to pay her for another day that they couldn't afford. She tucked the blankets under her arm and hurried to the rooftop door, hoping that she hadn't overslept.

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

The library was nearly deserted, save for a few people at the public computers that Ricky had pegged as overachievers. On a Sunday though, that was to be expected. The library itself was only opened half the day and that was rare because even the public library was closed on Sundays. He'd come down anyway though, under the guise that he needed to do some research for a book report. Technically, that was true, but the research wasn't as dire as he claimed and he really didn't need to go to the GVCC library to do it. Still, he wanted an excuse to explore the library uninhibited, just to see what it might feel like to be a student.

Ricky eyed the people on the computers again, but they were paying him no attention, so he decided that it was safe enough to temporarily leave his backpack at his table and wander through the stacks in the history section. Through some form of bad luck, he had ended up with a book report on Marie Antoinette, and he was required to have at least two non-Internet outside sources to bolster his research. He meandered through the aisles slowly, shifting his eyes between a small piece of scrap paper in his hand which contained a few shelf numbers that he thought he might be able to use for his works cited, until he came upon the right one.

A quick scan of the shelves made him realize the book would be on the bottom. "Why not?" he said sarcastically, before squatting down and running his index finger along the spines of the books. He passed over the area that the book should be at least three times and then cursed the computer that he'd looked up the book on. "It said it wasn't checked out," he muttered to himself. "But I would pick the one book in the entire library that's incorrectly listed." He smacked his palm against the shelf in frustration.

"Do you need some help?"

Ricky's toes curled, gripping against the bottoms of his tennis shoes. He pulled himself up and turned to face the voice, positive he was imagining it.

"_Ricky?"_

"Clementine?"

"Wh – what are you doing here? Oh my gosh!" The young brunette woman exclaimed. She threw her arms around him, nearly knocking him over in a hug. "It's been so long since I've seen you!" She patted the top of his head. "And here I used to tease you for being short. Look at you now! How are you?!"

Ricky felt his cheeks turning hot and he tried to rub them to disperse the heat. "I'm good, I'm good," he laughed nervously. "What about you? Do you go here?"

Clementine shook her head. "No, I actually go to the university, but they don't have one of the books I need for my term paper. They have an inter-library loan system though, but that means they'd have to send the book to me through the mail, so it thought, 'To heck with that, I'll just pick it up myself.' What about you?" She squinted. "Don't tell me you graduated early…"

Ricky shook his head. "No! I – I came here for research too. I'm actually graduating this May."

"That's wonderful!"

Ricky nodded. "Yeah."

"So…who are you living with now?"

"Uh, the Shakurs. Margaret and Sanjay."

"Fosters?"

"Technically, but they consider me their son." Ricky contemplated telling her about their desire to adopt him, but decided against it. It was too complicated for a spur of the moment reunion. "I've been with them for several years now. You?"

Clementine shook her head. "I dropped out of the system when I turned eighteen and moved in with some friends. I never landed a steady home, I just kept getting shuffled around and–" A pained expression painted her face. "Anyway, that's all past history." She noted the paper in his hands. "What are you looking for?"

"Just a stupid book that's missing."

"Missing?" Clementine held out her hand. "May I?"

Ricky dropped the paper into her hand. "Be my guest."

Clementine studied the paper and then turned and looked at the numbers. She laughed.

"What?"

"You're looking in the wrong area."

"But–"

"See the zero at the beginning of this code? You should be looking in the thousands, not the hundreds. It's a really common mistake, I've made it before myself, more than once. Here," Clementine said, motioning her hand. "Follow me, I know where you need to go."

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"I've always wanted to try a Swedish massage," Amy said as they reviewed the spa menus they'd been given. "Having your body rubbed down for an hour by a big hunk of sex on legs? Where can you go wrong?"

Grace paled a little. "Having nothing but a sheet covering you as a strange man touches you all over your body," she said skeptically. "Where could you go wrong?"

"Sorry," Amy apologized. "I hadn't thought of it that way. We, uh, could request women." Noticing Grace's unnerved expression barely changed, she shrugged. "Or not at all."

Grace shook her head. "It's okay. Once upon a time, I used to think having a massage might be nice too. It's just another thing that I can't have anymore. But never mind that, because your dad set this up to help me relax and_ forget _about that for a day, so that's what I'm going to do."

"What about the deep cleansing facial?" Amy suggested in an attempt to steer the conversation in a new direction.

Grace nodded eagerly. "I like the sound of that!"

"I've never had a facial before," Amy said. "Not counting those do-it-at-home ones that make you look like something from a bad sci-fi movie."

"Me too. I can't wait to see what this is like!" Grace touched the contours of her face contemplatively.

"I wonder what Ashley and your mom decided to do?"

"We'll have to meet up with them later and compare notes."

"I still can't believe my dad managed all this."

"I know," Grace giggled.

"You think this is part of our parents' evil plot to gel our families?"

"I don't know, but if it is, it looks like they've still got a ways to go with your sister."

"Ashley may never be used to the idea. It sure took me a while."

"I hear you. It's not even your dad, it's just–"

"I know," Amy agreed. She stopped and pointed to the sign on one of the doors. "I think this is it," she said, comparing it to the map on the other side of the spa menu.

Grace nodded in agreement and reached for the door handle.

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"Damnit!" Adrian swore as she pulled into the driveway, noting Briella's car in her rearview mirror, parked across the street. She got out in a hurry and ran up to the front door. Inside, she found the nanny feeding Mercy a breakfast of oatmeal. _"¡Hola!"_

"_Hola, Adrian,"_ Briella greeted.

"_¡Hola!"_ Mercy peeped happily. Her legs were swinging back and forth in her high chair as she eyed the oatmeal greedily.

"I'm not sure how much Ben told you, but I'm sorry he had to call you. I was…taking care of some personal things."

Briella nodded. "He mentioned that he wasn't sure when you'd be back. Much sooner than I thought," she said.

"I'm sorry you had to drive all the way out here. How long have you been here?"

"About twenty minutes."

"Is it okay if we pay you for a half hour, then? Will that cover the expense of having to drive out here and back?"

"_Si._ That's fine, Adrian."

"Thank you! And again, I'm really sorry for the inconvenience."

"It's all right, I've grown quite fond of your little _nena_."

Adrian pulled up a chair in front of Mercy and took the oatmeal bowl from Briella. "She's grown quite fond of you too."

Mercy fisted her high chair tray. "'Tmeal! 'Tmeal!" she squealed, reaching for the bowl.

"Well look at that," Briella chuckled. "She's finally getting a few English words down. Ben'll be pleased."

"I guess he will," Adrian sighed.

"Trouble between you and Ben?" Briella asked as she slid on her sweater. "Not that I'm trying to pry, you just look a little upset."

"Yeah," Adrian said, "but it's nothing I can't work through. I was doing that before I met Ben and I'll do it–" She looked at Mercy's glowing face and stopped herself as she was about to say _long after him_.

Briella patted Adrian's shoulder and blew a kiss to Mercy, who spit on her hand trying to return one. _"Adios."_

"_Adios."_

"_¡Dios!"_

Adrian limply stirred the oatmeal. "_Mamá_ is sorry she ran out like she did." She leaned forward and kissed her daughter's forehead and then airplaned a spoonful of oatmeal into the toddler's awaiting mouth. "Is that good?" she asked as Mercy cooed clapped her hands in delight.

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"And here you go," Clementine announced while placing the book Ricky had been looking for into his hand.

"It's just like we're kids again and you're making me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich."

Clementine's head swished subtly up and down. "You are _not_ a little kid anymore."

"You look the same as ever."

"Thanks!" Clementine spoke sarcastically. "And I thought I was over the acne phase of my life."

"You never had acne."

"Yeah I did! You just have selective memory."

Ricky smirked as he followed her out of the stacks.

"Still that same old smirk," she noted. "Where are you sitting?"

Ricky motioned to the backpack at the lone table in the corner of the room.

"Mind if I come join you?"

"Nah, it's okay, I'll move. Knowing you, you'll already have all your things neatly laid out anyway." Ricky grabbed his backpack and followed Clementine to her table, where his prediction proved true. He laughed as her cheeks flushed and leaned over to peer at her notes. "So what are you working on?"

"Just a term paper, like I said. I'm a History and Women's Studies double major."

"Sounds like you."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," Ricky shook his head. "It's a compliment."

Clementine smiled. "So you said you're graduating this year? Any plans after graduation?"

"Actually…I'm thinking of coming here."

"Good move," Clementine nodded. "I wish I'd have done that. Would've saved me a ton in student loans."

"You didn't get any scholarships?"

"A few, but I was no Valedictorian. I'm working two jobs just to pay the bills."

"Where?"

"Waitressing. One job is at an eatery on campus, the other one's at a sports bar downtown. You should see the uniforms," she scoffed. "They hardly exist! But the tips keep me going back. I can't wait for the next three years to be over so I can get a decent job where people don't feel entitled to pinch my ass as I'm handing them their drinks."

"Can't you do something about that?" Ricky demanded.

"Yeah, _quit_. It's my word against theirs…but if I don't protest, the better the tips." Clementine shook her head. "But that's the last thing I want to talk about right now. C'mon, Ricky, what's going on with you? Tell me everything I've missed!"

"Eh," Ricky grumbled. "We'll be here a while…"

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"Hey, girls!" Kathleen greeted in the hallway. She wore a fluffy white terry cloth robe and some flip flops with sunflowers on the toes. "How are you enjoying yourselves?"

"We just came from the reflexology room," Grace said.

"Foot massages," Amy explained at Kathleen's curious expression.

"It was really nice," Grace nodded.

"Really? I just got a scalp massage, after my deep tissue massage. I'm really feeling their massages. Where are you off to now?"

"Manis and pedis!"

Kathleen nodded. "Has anyone seen Ashley?"

Amy and Grace looked at each other and shook their heads.

"Oh. Well...a mani/pedi sounds like fun. I'd join you, but the foot massage is calling my name."

"Does it sound anything like George's voice saying 'Kitty Kat'?" Grace asked.

"Grace!" Kathleen admonished as her face burned.

Amy sucked the insides of her lips against her teeth to keep from smiling, or worse, laughing. "We'll let her know you were looking if we run into her."

"Thanks!" Kathleen replied, quick to change the subject. "Have fun getting your nails painted!"

Grace snickered as her mother escaped down the hall and, along with Amy, burst out in full blown giggles once Kathleen was safely inside the reflexology room. They laughed all the way to the manicure and pedicure room and by the time they arrived their eyelashes were sopped and they felt like they'd pulled muscles on each side of their stomachs.

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

After checking in on Mercy and finding her asleep in her crib, Ben entered the bedroom he shared with his girlfriend and found Adrian sitting up in bed, reading. "Is that for school?"

"Pleasure," Adrian responded. "The only kind I'm getting in this bed."

Ben used the toe of his right foot to step on the heel of his left, allowing him to wriggle his foot out of the shoe and kick it towards the closet. He then balanced himself against the wall, standing on one leg like a flamingo, and removed the other shoe which he tossed beside the first. He sat down on his side of the bed and slid off his smelly work shirt. "Briella said you got home shortly after she got here."

"So?"

"So, where were you?"

"Thinking."

"About?"

"Everything."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means we're in over our heads."

"Which is why we need to talk, but you keep avoiding it."

"Because it keeps ending in fights."

"And you keep walking out!"

Adrian smacked her book onto the dresser. "There you go again!"

Ben pushed off the bed and over to his sock drawer. He pulled out an addressed and stamped envelope, carried it back over to the bed, and set it between them.

Adrian gingerly picked up the envelope, looked at who it was addressed to, and turned it over to find it wasn't yet sealed. She lifted the back flap and inside she found a check, fully written out and signed, to the hospital. "So you just made this decision without me?"

"If I made it without you, I would've sent it already. Look," Ben sighed. "I don't know what else to do. I tried to get a credit card and was denied. I know you don't have a credit card either, but considering your credit history is probably no better than mine, I doubt you'll have any better luck getting one than me. So, we either pay it in full, we incur interest, or we ignore it and let it come back to bite us later."

Adrian stuffed the check back in the envelope. "Fine, pay it, if that's what you want."

"I'm not going to mail that without your answer."

"Pay it!" Adrian made a show of licking the envelope, sealing it, and throwing it into Ben's lap.

"You know it's the right decision. I don't know why you're the one acting like you don't know anything about finances now, you're the one always on me about how to save money and this may not save money immediately, but it saves it in the long run, even a dumb rich kid like me understands that."

"I'm not acting like I don't know what the right decision is, Ben. But when you _don't_ grow up a rich kid, it's hard to let go of what little you do have, even if it is the right thing to do."

Ben set the envelope on top of his alarm clock and pushed his legs beneath the covers. "Would you stop throwing that in my face? I can't help that I was born wealthy no more than you can help you weren't."

"You were the one who brought up being born rich, not me."

"Well I'm not rich _now_, am I? We're the same."

Adrian massaged her temples. "The dictionary disagrees with you."

"Adrian," Ben grunted. "We need to move past this. Something unexpected happened. We're dealing with it." He motioned to the envelope. "No, it's been dealt with, so let's move on. While we're on the topic of money: what are we doing about the dance tomorrow? I know you have that dress you picked out for it a while ago and we both rearranged our schedules to get the time off. I was never able to sell the tickets, so if we don't go, that's twenty bucks in the trash."

"And if we do, who are we going to get to babysit? We'll be throwing more away to pay for babysitting than we'll be saving by using those tickets."

"I'll make a few calls–"

"Don't bother," Adrian interrupted. "I don't really feel like going anyway." She rolled and turned off her bedside lamp.

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"'Now I'm speechless, over the edge, I'm just breathless, I never thought I'd catch this love bug again,'" Heather hummed as she trotted down Ricky's stairs. She found him at his drum set, tapping away. "Hey!" She grinned. "Jonas Brothers! You hate the Jonas Brothers."

Ricky smirked. "Yeah, but you won't stop playing that damn song. It's stuck in my head. How do _you_ even like them?"

"Lisa does."

"And suddenly all the pieces fit together."

Heather climbed onto his bed. "You're right, Disney boy bands aren't my thing, but that one song is kind of catchy."

"Now _I'm_ speechless."

Heather rolled her eyes. "So, you ready for the dance tomorrow?"

Ricky absently tapped his drumsticks together. "I might have other plans."

"Say what?"

Ricky shrugged. "I told you I didn't really want to go."

"You can't return the ticket and Ash and I already bought tickets for Lisa and Toby."

"I told you that Toby could have mine, but you vetoed that idea."

"So you're just going to eat the ten bucks? What're your alternative plans?"

"None of your business, Red."

Heather leaned forward on the bed. "Oh. My. Non-existent-deity. Who is she?"

"Mom!" Ricky hollered at the top of his lungs. "Heather won't get out of my room!"

Heather hopped off the bed. "A name!" she cried. "Just give me a name!"

"_Mom!"_

"First name, that's all!"

"Hey, guess what?" Ricky said casually. "I bought a bag of clementines on my way home from the library."

Heather held up her index finger. "Just the first letter of the first name?" she begged.

"What's going on down here?" Margaret's voice demanded less than a minute later. She had her arms crossed as she stopped halfway down the stairs. "It's nearly ten o'clock and you both have school in the morning."

Ricky shot Margaret a grateful look and then turned a satisfied smirk to Heather. "'Night, _Sis_."

Heather folded her arms and mock stomped up the stairs. "I'm going to find out your secret!" she warned.

Ricky drummed the _ba-dum-tsssh_ sound of a joke punch line as Margaret ushered Heather up the stairs. He waited until he heard the door shut and then got off his drum set and hopped onto his bed, where his leather jacket had been thrown on his pillow. He reached into the pocket and pulled out a small piece of paper, wrapped around a ping pong ball sized clementine. When he opened the paper and smoothed it out, it was a phone number with a hand drawn smiley face.

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"I really like the lady bugs on your nails. Having the dots shaped like hearts was a nice touch."

Amy nodded. "I took inspiration from that Love Bug costume you put together for me a couple years ago."

"Thank goodness these love bugs were less offensive to George."

Amy huffed as she admired her nails, painted with a fire hydrant colored base coat. She wiggled her fingers and the oversized lady bugs almost looked as if they were fluttering around her fingers. "I kind of regret getting the tips though."

"Really?" Grace asked. "I always wanted them when I was growing up."

"Me too!"

"And I've always been a little envious of Adrian's nails," the blonde admitted with a laugh.

Amy nodded. "They look pretty," she strummed her fingers along her knee, "but they don't feel like I thought they would. It doesn't feel like me."

"That's good to know. I was tempted, I really was, but I was afraid I might poke Christian's eye out or something." She looked across to the bassinet where her son lay sleeping.

"I think yours look nice though," Amy said. "I'm not religious or anything like that, but I think it's really pretty how they did the dark part above the quick and the top part as a glitter blue background like a field at night and then on your middle fingers they did the star of Bethlehem. When you press your fingers together on one hand, it really does look like a whole story."

"Thanks." Grace held her hand away from herself to admire her nail art.

Amy covered her mouth as a yawn escaped.

"We should probably get to bed. It's already half past eleven."

Amy nodded and slid off Grace's bed.

"Are you sure you don't want the bed?"

Amy shook her head. "The sleeping bag's fine," she laughed. "And you gave me so many pillows I'm pretty sure sleeping on the floor will be more comfortable than the bed anyway."

"If you're sure…"

"I'm sure!"

"Okay," Grace said uneasily. She turned off the lamp, leaving only the glow of the nightlight. She watched Amy settle into the nest of pillows on the floor and then turned to her sleeping son and gave Christian a quick kiss on the cheek, causing the baby mewl in his sleep. "Sweet dreams my little bugaboo."


	8. Dancing Under The Stars

**A/N: **Hello, readers! It may be Friday, but I'm still experiencing a high from the Ramy and Jace breakups on Monday! :D

_**Turning Tables**_

**Dancing Under The Stars**

"What is this?" Adrian asked an inch before the red apple in her hand reached her lips. She had been flanked by blonde hair on one side and brunette hair on the other.

"Amy and I have a solution to your babysitting problem," Grace announced cheerfully.

Adrian shot a quizzical look at her best friend and then turned the same look on her coworker. "I have a babysitter."

"Not a free one," Grace said.

"And not for the dance," Amy added. "I talked to Ben."

"Oh," Adrian glowered.

"Just drop Mercy off with us tonight."

Adrian set her apple down. "No offense, Grace, but you've been overworked with Christian and getting back to school in general. What makes you think you can watch Christian _and_ Mercy?"

"That's why Amy'll be there. Like you said, I know about being overworked and stressed to the point of shriveling in the fetal position on the floor, so I want to give you a night away from that. George just did that for me and I'd like to pay it forward."

Adrian whipped her head around. "And do you have _any _babysitting experience?"

"I babysat in middle school a few times."

"I don't know, I'm not really feeling that comfortable with the idea–"

"George and my mom will be right next door—literally—if we discover ourselves in a precarious situation and between them they have four kids. Isn't that enough babysitting experience?" Grace asked.

"What makes you so gung ho about this?"

"I think the more appropriate question," Grace countered, "is why aren't you jumping at the offer?"

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"…and I think he was flirting with me."

"You 'think'?" Heather asked incredulously.

"Okay, I know he was," Ashley amended.

"And Toby was okay with this?" Ricky asked.

"He was in the bathroom."

Heather swirled one of her fries in her ketchup and sprinkled a bit of pepper onto it from one of her pepper packages. "This Thomas guy sure doesn't sound like a friend if he's flirting with his guy's girl."

"I'm not 'his girl,' I'm not anyone's property. And they're not friends, they're study buddies. It's a homeschooled thing to promote 'social interaction.'"

"A love triangle probably wasn't the social interaction they were aiming for."

"It's not a love triangle," Ashley said quickly. "I didn't flirt back."

Ricky shot his friend a sharp look. "So you and Toby are still on for the dance tonight?"

"Why wouldn't we be?"

Ricky shrugged. "Just making sure."

"Ricky's not going with us," Heather said. "He won't tell me who he _is_ hooking up with though."

"You've got a date?" Ashley asked in surprise.

"It's not a date, she's just an old friend."

"'She,' well, there you go." Heather rolled her eyes as far back as they would go.

"She's my ex-foster sister."

"'Ex,' I knew it!"

"What's the use?" Ricky groaned. "You have a way of turning everything I say around."

"It's a superpower, I know."

"But you're meeting up with an ex-'foster sister' on Valentine's Day? Doesn't she have plans already?"

"She's not seeing anyone right now." Ricky caught the look shared between his best friends. "Stop it! There was never anything between Clementine and I are there never will be!"

"Clementine?" Heather smirked. "So you really did tell me her name last night! What kind of parents name their kid 'Clementine' though?"

"She ended up in foster care, didn't she?"

Heather shut her mouth. "I wasn't thinking when I said that."

Ricky nodded. "Just lay off, okay?"

Heather vaguely nodded before turning her attention to Ashley. "So about the dance: did you decide if Toby's sister was giving you a ride or do Lisa and I need to swing by to get you?"

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"Don't despair, Ben!" Grace said as she sat down on one of the two empty benches, between Ben and Alice, which interrupted Alice and Henry's lovey dovey kissing. "You can drop Mercy off at my house before the dance, Amy and I have everything covered."

"Whaaat?" Ben asked, his mouth narrowly missing the half of the cold grilled cheese sandwich he was about to bite into.

"We talked with Adrian just now and your Valentine's Day dance is still on. You don't have to skip it for lack of a babysitter, because Amy and I are going to do it."

"And Adrian agreed to this?" Alice asked skeptically.

"Yes, of course, I just said I talked to her about it."

Alice looked quizzically at Ben.

"Well," Henry said awkwardly, "I guess that gives you two time to talk."

"Like we need more of that," Ben muttered into his sandwich.

"Maybe you should go talk to Adrian about it right now?" Alice suggested.

"Why?"

"Because she's on her way over here."

Ben bit hard on his sandwich slice and exaggeratedly chewed his food as slow as possible.

"Ow!" Henry suddenly cried.

"Hank, I need you to buy me a soda…in the gym."

Henry nodded obediently.

Grace eased herself off the waxy red bench. "I can't wait to see Mercy," she said before scampering off.

Adrian slipped into Grace's vacated spot. There were a few bites missing from her apple. She stared at Ben until he was forced to swallow his food.

"Soooo," Ben drawled. "I hear we're going to the dance."

"Apparently," Adrian bit back. "Good old Grace."

"It is Valentine's Day," Ben said. "Maybe it'll be a good thing?"

Instead of answering, Adrian snapped another bite into the flesh of her apple.

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

Several hours after school got out, Ricky found himself strolling the downtown sidewalks beside Clementine. He was kicking pebbles out of his way as they walked, occasionally stopping as Clementine paused to peer into the windows of thrift or antique stores.

"You still playing baseball?"

"Yeah, but it mostly consists of me hitting the batting cages by myself. I'm not into leagues anymore."

"But you were good. You were amazing!"

"Now who has the selective memory?" Ricky teased. "I was all right, nothing special."

"You got a trophy."

"Once. One time. Beginner's luck. Anyway, I didn't like the pressure of playing for a team. Baseball was better as a release."

"You were never much for team playing at anything the entire time I knew you," Clementine laughed. "Which is why I think it's fascinating that you're in marching band."

"It was a good way to meet girls."

"No, you really do have a passion for drumming, way more so than baseball."

"Yeah," Ricky agreed. "Hey! My dad took me down to Rock Walk in November and I got to see Terry Bozzio's handprints! I've got a few pictures of it framed on my wall, you should come over and check them out sometime."

Clementine raised an eyebrow. "Is that a serious offer?" she asked.

Ricky stopped and stared at her. "Yeah," he said after a while. "Yeah it is."

Clementine nodded. "Good…maybe I'd even like to meet your dad sometime. Sanjay, right?"

"He goes by his last name, Shakur."

Clementine nodded. "So noted." She raked her fingers through her ponytail. "So, how did you end up with them?"

"A few months after they moved you out of the Keets' house they transferred my file to a new caseworker and it turned out to be Margaret Shakur. I was lucky, because two weeks after I met her she just showed up at the Keets' and said I was moving. The Keets were my third home in the year-and-a-half that I'd been in foster care and I was with them for a year—I think I've explained about the previous homes to you before—and I was terrified of moving again, even if the place was overcrowded and the older boys were assholes. But Margaret ended up moving me in with her and I was lucky, because that's where I've been ever since."

"If I wasn't being transferred between homes, I was being transferred between caseworkers. Sound like you hit the caseworker jackpot."

"I did."

"I'm happy for you," Clementine said earnestly. "Things were so screwed up for you for the first twelve years of your life; you deserved something good."

"That's nice to say, even if it's not necessarily true. I hurt a lot of people myself after I moved in with the Shakurs."

"What do you mean?"

"I was in therapy—I'm still in therapy—but therapy takes time, especially the kind I needed, so when I hit my teens I turned to other things to help myself. When your dad takes your virginity and proceeds to screw you for five years, it really messes with you when you start to develop sexual feelings later on."

"You didn't…"

"Rape anyone? No. I was a different kind of abuser, I was manipulative as hell. Getting to be the aggressor during sex and taking other people's virginity, that made me feel in control. I never forced anyone, but I flirted with that line. Literally, I flirted with girls until I pressured them into things they wouldn't normally agree to. I became addicted to it. That's not an excuse by the way, it just is."

"Who was she?" Clementine asked quietly. "The first girl who made you feel in control?"

Ricky kicked around another couple of rocks before choosing to sit down on a bench outside one of the little shops. "Her name was Tess. She was thirteen. We both were. I know that sounds young and it was, but I'd already been introduced to sex for years. I didn't even really like her, but she liked me and I could tell because I could persuade her to do things for me; she wanted to impress me so badly. One night I just kissed her and she turned so red, but then she asked me to do it again. Each time we made out I got more confident until one night I just went for it. And she cried. I'll never forget how she cried, even as she helped me clean up the blood stain on her sheets. She ended up telling her parents she had a bloody nose. Two dumb thirteen-year-old kids…they were never the wiser."

"What happened to Tess?"

"She started avoiding me at school until I only ever saw her in passing. I guess, in a way, she taught me how to avoid all the girls that came after her. Her family moved away before high school, I heard through the grapevine that her mom got some promotion. She was probably relieved. She probably still resents me for that night."

Clementine rested her hand atop Ricky's. "I would say that I'm sorry, but what does that change?"

"Exactly."

"Well this is entirely depressing." She laughed to lighten the mood. "Hey, what if we go get some snow cones, just for old time's sake?"

"In February?"

"February in California, why not? I'll even pay!"

"You always paid," Ricky said. "It's my turn. I'm not eleven anymore."

"No, you are most definitely not."

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"Okay, _Preciosista_, it looks like it's time for us to go." Adrian lowered the bar on Mercy's crib and stood before her daughter in a knee-length, strapless satin dress the color of concord grape juice. "How do I look?"

Mercy crawled forward and reached out to touch the fabric.

"Ah-ah!" Adrian warned, leaning in to grab the toddler before she could topple over the side of the crib. "No cracking your hard little skull open, we don't have the money for another E.R. visit."

Mercy touched Adrian's faintly rouged cheek and examined the faint pink sparkle dust on her fingers, then she noticed the large silver hoops hanging from her mother's ears. Intrigued, she wrapped her fat little fist around one and yanked.

Adrian screamed as the earring tore through the tender flesh of her lobe. She managed to grab her daughter's hand in time and prevent it from completing the damage as Ben ran in.

"What's going on?!"

Adrian closed her eyes, though she felt her mascara running down her cheeks. "Just…untangle…her…fingers…" She said slowly and deliberately, trying to focus on Ben instead of the pain.

Ben carefully unwound Mercy's fingers from the hoop and took his daughter from his girlfriend. As soon as he safely had Mercy in his arms, Adrian fled the room before he could say a word. Ben held Mercy up to his face and rested his forehead against hers. A few minutes later he set her back in her crib, set the bar, and went to find Adrian in the bathroom.

There were several bloody tissues littered around the sink, an opened bottle of peroxide, and Adrian crouched on the floor in front of the sink cupboard. "I can't find the cotton balls," she seethed.

"I moved them into the cabinet above the sink," he said, opening said compartment below the mirror and pulling out the bag of cotton balls. Ben retrieved one and dabbed it in peroxide. "Here," he instructed, taking Adrian by the arm and leading her to the closed toilet seat. He gently pushed her hair back behind her opposite shoulder and crouched into a kneeling position so that he could dab the bleeding cut with the cotton ball.

Adrian grit her teeth and hissed at the sting of the peroxide.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Ben repeated after every few hisses.

Adrian grabbed onto the toilet paper roll, which was nearly empty, and squeezed it.

"I think that should be fine," Ben said. He tossed the tissues and used cotton balls into the trash bin and then located the triple antibiotic ointment and wiped some onto the front and back of Adrian's earlobe with a q-tip. Lastly, he retrieved two small round band-aids from the medicine cabinet and applied them to Adrian's ear. Ben's finger brushed the trace of her ear as he pulled his hand back. "Better?"

Adrian slowly nodded her head. It still burned, but not as bad as it had at first. She stood up and looked at herself in the mirror, unable to take her eyes off the ugly band-aid on her earlobe.

"Here," Ben said, rearranging her hair to frame her face and hide her ears.

Adrian gave a small smile and reached for her makeup wipes. "I'm sorry, I have to redo my makeup."

"Take your time, we're in no rush."

Adrian nodded as Ben left. She stared at her reflection as she wiped away the black streaks from her face.

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"What is that?" Grace asked. She came to stand behind the chair Amy was sitting in so she could look at the screen on Amy's laptop.

"I'm watching this kid playing the French Horn on YouTube. He's like twelve and he plays the French horn a million times better than I do."

"How long have you been playing?"

"Since I was nine."

"Doesn't that make you a child prodigy or something?"

"Hardly! I actually joined band because of a crush."

"You had a crush at _nine_?"

"Kind of," Amy giggled. "Austin used to push me on the swing when we were in Kindergareten. I never thought of it at the time and then we didn't have first or second grade together, but by third grade we were in the same class again but we never talked anymore. We used to play all the time together in Kindergarten! Usually he was the one who wanted to play with me. By third grade I had a faint idea of what a crush was I decided Austin was mine."

"So how did you end up playing the French Horn?"

Amy paused her video and adjusted the hot laptop onto the arm of the chair. "Uh, well, Austin played the piano. His grandmother had been giving him lessons as far back as he could remember, so every music class the music teacher would have him play the piano and the rest of us would get the silly instruments like the triangles or something. Stupid me, I wanted to impress him, so I decided that I would become skilled at an instrument too. Not piano—that's way too complicated—but then I remembered 'Peter and the Wolf.'"

"'Peter and the Wolf'?"

"My mom used to play it over and over to me as a kid. I was scared of the wolf and the French Horn played the part of the wolf. I figured, if I became the French Horn player, I could conquer the wolf and if I could conquer the wolf, I could conquer anything. Plus…my mom always loved the wolf parts the best."

"And did it work? Did you impress him?"

Amy snorted. "I might have, if I'd not admitted to my friend Julie that Austin was my crush that year. She told _everybody_ after she pinky swore she wouldn't and Austin vehemently denied liking me, he even made a point of making fun of me for liking him. It hurt at the time, but I don't really blame him now: he was as embarrassed as I was and he just wanted to get the pressure off himself, so he put it onto me. It was a jerk move to be sure, but we were nine after all. That's how I became friends with Madison and Lauren, actually. They saw me crying under the jungle gym at recess the next day and somehow we just sort of bonded. Been friends ever since."

"So why didn't you just quit the French Horn afterwards?"

"Partly because I didn't want to admit that I only started it for a boy who ended up hating me, partly because I felt guilty that my parents paid so much money to buy my French Horn, and mostly because I was determined to conquer that whole ordeal too. And after a while, I started to genuinely _like_ it. I started thinking at the end of middle school that maybe I could even end up going to Julliard." She rolled her eyes. "I know, stupid, right? I'm not good enough for Julliard, they only take the best–"

"You don't know you're not the best until you try."

Amy shrugged and looked at the paused video on her screen. "I guess." She looked across the room to her backpack and French Horn case. "Will it bug you if I practice?"

Grace shook her head. "Christian's awake right now, so have at it." A knock sounded at the door and Grace jumped. "They're here!"

"Sorry we're late," Ben apologized even before Grace even got the door all the way open.

Adrian pushed back her hair to reveal her ear.

Grace covered her mouth as a gasp flew out. "What happened?"

"Just don't where hoop earrings around this one," Adrian said as she patted her daughter on the head. She walked inside and nodded to Amy, then set Mercy into the playpen that had already been set up and dropped her diaper bag beside it.

Grace insisted on checking out Adrian's earlobe before the Latina could leave and when she was satisfied, she gave her friend a hug. "Now you two kids have fun, you hear?"

"Yes, _Mom,_" Adrian retorted. "And thanks." She looked at Amy. "To both of you."

"Ditto," Ben said. He shot a grateful look at his ex. "We really appreciate it!"

"Make sure to call if anything goes wrong," Adrian advised. "And no strawberries!"

"No strawberries," Grace repeated. "And don't worry, nothing will go wrong!"

"Come on," Ben said, tugging at his girlfriend's elbow. "We don't have all night."

Grace assisted Ben by pushing Adrian out the door. "Happy Valentine's Day!" She quickly shut the door before Adrian could find another excuse to come back in.

Mercy pulled herself into a standing position and held herself up on by the edge of the playpen. _"¡__Mamá!"_

"Nope," Grace corrected. "It's just Auntie Grace, Amy, and Christian tonight, Mercy. Your mommy and daddy need some grownup – err, teenage – time." She picked the little girl up and spun her in a circle. "We're gonna have fun, okay?"

Mercy spread out her arms like wings and flapped them furiously. "Gen! Gen!"

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"Uh, Clem…" Ricky said as she was in the middle of speaking.

Clementine paused. "What?"

Ricky lowered his eyes to her lap and back up again. When she didn't get it the first time, he repeated a more exaggerated version.

Clementine looked down at her lap hesitatingly and gasped as she noticed that her white jeans were spotted with cherry flavored snow cone syrup polka dots. She immediately held up her snow cone and realized it was dripping from the end. "Sh–" She began, but cut herself off when she noticed an angry mother shoot her a look from a nearby park bench.

"Here, here," Ricky said, offering the two napkins he had in his hand.

Clementine raced to blot up the drops, but they'd already settled into the fabric. Frustrated, she shoved her snow cone into Ricky's hand and spit on the napkins, then tried to rub the stains out.

"You've been eating the snow cone," Ricky said unhelpfully. "That'll just make it worse."

"Well then what would you suggest?" Clementine snapped. "I love these pants! This'll never come out!"

Ricky worked himself out of his jacket and offered it to her.

"What am I supposed to do with that?" she asked blankly.

"Tie it around your waist, nineties' style. We can head back to your apartment and try to get that out. You said you live close by, didn't you?"

"Well," Clementine frowned. "I wasn't exactly planning on taking you back to my apartment, but under the circumstances…" She snatched the leather jacket out of Ricky's hand and tied it firmly around her waist. "I must look so stupid."

"You look fine."

Clementine covered her face with her hands. "We're gonna have to stop at the store on the way, I'm out of spot remover."

"I'll get it," Ricky said. "You don't even need to get out of the car." He held up her melting snow cone as they passed an outdoor trashcan. "You done with this?"

"Definitely."

Ricky tossed both his and her wrappers and followed her across the park towards the parking lot.

"Excuse me!"

Ricky turned at the sound of the voice and saw a man coming towards them, looking overly dressed in a black tux, bowtie, and top hat for someone just strolling the park. "We're kind of in a hurry," Ricky tensed.

"Is this your girlfriend?" the man asked in a strange accent that Ricky couldn't place. He smiled at Clementine before she could answer and took off his top hat and bowed at her acquaintance. Then he reached into the hat and pulled out a long stemmed red rose. "A dollar for your lady?" he asked, holding the rose before Ricky.

"You've got the wrong idea," Clementine laughed. "We're just old friends. But thank you!" her eyes twinkled and she curtsied at the man.

"Well in that case…" The man waved the rose in the air and it vanished, replaced with a pair of tickets. "Perhaps you and your_ friend_ would like to attend my show at the community center some time."

"Why thank you," Clementine laughed. "Maybe we will."

"It's been a pleasure, m'lady."

"Likewise, m'gentleman"

The man noticed a couple of women laughing and holding hands across the park. He bowed his head. "Happy Valentine's Day!" He tipped his hat before heading in the direction of the women.

Clementine examined the tickets as they resumed their walk to the car. She handed Ricky one. "He seemed fun."

"Yeah," Ricky said absently. "Maybe - maybe we _should_ go?"

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"Adrian, Ben!" Heather shouted, waving her arms like ribbons flailing in a storm. "Over here!"

"You just missed a great song!" Lisa said as the couple approached.

Ben exchanged a look at his girlfriend and covered, "We had to drop Mercy off with Grace and Amy. But we're here now." He nodded towards Ashley. "Hey."

"Hi," Ashley said monotonously.

"Whoever decorated did a good job," Ben said. He looked around the gym: it was fairly dark, with lots of Christmas light strings containing only blue and white lights pinned along walls, table legs, and hanging from the ceiling along with several shimmery cut out stars that were reflecting the lights and making it look like the stars were winking. The floor was also sprinkled with glitter, which he thought would be a mess to clean up, and pitied the janitors.

"Never let cheerleaders get their little pom-poms on glitter," Adrian said, pushing at some of the glitter on the ground with her toe of her pump.

"Oh!" Heather and Lisa shouted at the same time as the first few beats of the next song began to play. They turned to each other with Cheshire grins and began to wag their hips.

"I guess that's a good sign?" Ben asked aloud.

"Lady Gaga," Adrian to her confused boyfriend.

Heather gave Lisa a swat on the bum and side eyed Ben, Adrian, Toby, and Ashley. "Why aren't you guys dancing? This song is the bomb!" She lifted her arms in the air.

"I want your love!" one of the boys from the dance floor shouted out.

"Love, love, love!" chorused several other voices.

Lisa grabbed Heather by the hips and led her onto the dance floor.

Toby hooked his hand around Ashley's waist. "Dance with me, Ashley."

Ashley didn't seem as thrilled with the idea, but she allowed Toby to lead her onto the dance floor anyway.

Ben turned to Adrian. "So? It's not exactly a slow song, but…dance with me?"

Adrian sighed. "Fast songs can be fun too you know."

"Prove it."

Adrian clicked her tongue to the roof of her mouth and examined Ben's face momentarily. Then she spun around, pressing her back to Ben's chest. She gripped his hands and pressed them to her hips and began to dance against his body.

After a few moments Ben lowered his hands to her thighs and gave them a little squeeze, finally getting into the beat of the song.

"Work it, girl!" Heather shouted, giving them a thumbs up from across the dance floor.

"This is your song!" Lisa called to them.

"Our song?" Ben whispered in his girlfriend's ear.

"The song's called 'Bad Romance,' Ben."

"Then why would we want it to be our song?"

Adrian spun around and looped her arms around Ben's neck. "B," she said, touching Ben's lips with her manicured finger, "slash," she continued, making a diagonal slicing motion between them, "A-d." Adrian pressed her finger to her own lips. "B/Ad Romance."

Ben's face clouded for a minute before he understood and smiled. _"Aaah,"_ he said. "Well in that case…I love being caught in a B/Ad Romance." Ben pressed his forehead to Adrian's. "So does this mean you're not mad at me anymore?"

"It means it's Valentine's Day and you fixed my ear and I didn't even have to ask you to." She slowed her pace as the song began to wind down. "It means I hate being miserable and mad at you."

"That makes two of us."

"But it doesn't mean our troubles are over. We're still in over our heads."

"I know. But maybe we can forget about that for just a few hours and enjoy ourselves; enjoy each other."

Adrian stopped moving her feet just to stand in Ben's embrace. "I think I can be agreeable to that."

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"_Bebé,"_ Mercy cooed, reaching for Christian from her place in Amy's lap.

"Gentle," Grace warned as the toddler brushed her fingers against the infant's tender pink cheek.

"Sof."

"Yes," Grace agreed. "Soft."

Mercy stared at Christian's tiny fingers and held her hand beside his to compare how much bigger and chubbier her hand was.

Amy giggled as she ran a soft bristled brush through the little girl's obsidian mop of hair. Once the tangles were brushed clean she parted the hair as evenly as possible and used a couple of Grace's pink scrunchies to tie the sections into bouncing pigtails. "There! Just like my mom used to do for me." She fished a compact out of her purse and showed Mercy her reflection in the mirror.

Mercy's eyes doubled in size and she reached to tug at the pigtails.

Amy chuckled and flipped one of the pigtails.

Mercy squealed and began to shake her head back and forth so the pigtails flapped around her face. She began to screech in delight.

Soon the noise became too much and Christian's face turned the color of magma before he burst into a siren of tears.

Grace began to rock her son. "Shhh, shhh," she soothed to no avail.

Amy looked at Grace, her face worried. She shut the compact and dropped it into her purse. "I'm sorry, I didn't know she was gonna do that!"

Mercy suddenly clasped her hands to her ears and continued shaking her head. Soon she was crying because of Christian's cry and the combined noise was almost deafening.

Amy scooped up Mercy and slid off the bed. She walked around the room with the toddler for a few minutes, but the crying only seemed to intensify.

"Should we call in our parents?" Grace yelled over the noise.

"I–" Amy moved to the playpen and sat Mercy inside. "I have an idea!" She ran to her French Horn case, got out the instrument, and walked over between the playpen and the bed where Grace was with Christian. She took a deep breath and began to perform "Rock-a-Bye-Baby." Soon a hush fell over both children and Amy noticed that Mercy had pulled herself up in her playpen and was staring awestruck at her. Without stopping the music, she turned to look at Grace, who was nodding in excitement.

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"What's this?" Clementine asked as she walked into the living room of her apartment, holding a coffee mug with a yellow rose sticking out of it. In the background, the washing machine was chugging away.

"I bought it when I went in to get the spot remover," Ricky said casually.

"I figured that much; my roommates never put flowers on the kitchen table. But _why_?"

"Yellow roses," Ricky shrugged. "They're a symbol of friendship."

"Friendship in a stained coffee mug."

"I didn't want to get too fancy, give you the wrong idea or anything."

Clementine set the mug down on the coffee table and took a seat beside Ricky. "To friendship then…even though I don't have anything to give you."

"You already did."

"What?"

"The first day I met you," Ricky said.

"_Is this what you want?" Todd, an older foster brother, taunted, dangling a chipped coffee mug above Ricky's head._

_The eleven-year-old's head fell back as he stared at the mug. "Please give it back."_

"_What did you say?"_

"_Please?" Ricky begged._

"_Say it again!"_

"_Please!" Ricky said, reaching as far as he could for the mug._

_Suddenly a hand snatched the cup right out of Todd's._

"_You say 'sorry'!"_

"_Clementine!" Todd sneered._

"'_Sorry'!" Clementine instructed, pointing to Ricky. "You don't get to bully the new kids just because you're older and taller." She towered over Todd and used her height to her advantage by leaning over him. "I'm the same age as you, you know, and I can squeeze you like an orange!"_

_Todd dropped his head and begrudgingly mumbled, "Sorry."_

"_What?" Clementine asked._

"_Sorry," Todd said a little louder._

"_I can't hear you!"_

"_Sorry!"_

"_Good. Now run off before I go find Mrs. Keets!" The twelve-year-old waited until Todd had left before turning to Ricky and handing him the stolen mug. "Don't mind him, he's got problems…like all of us."_

"_Thanks," Ricky smiled shyly._

"_Why don't you sit down?" she said, motioning to the cluttered kitchen table. "I'll make us some peanut butter and jellies. Sound good?"_

_Ricky nodded and seated himself at the table. He ran his fingers over the chip on the mug, in between stealing glances at Clementine as she hummed something to herself while making the promised sandwiches._

_Several minutes later Clementine set two dishes down on the table and took a seat across from Ricky. "I hope it tastes good."_

_Ricky grabbed one half of his sandwich and took a whopping bite out of it. He looked at Clementine and nodded eagerly. "Thanks!" he said after swallowing._

"_So, I take it you haven't made any friends here yet?"_

_Ricky took another bite of his food and shook his head._

"_Well, now you have," Clementine said, offering her hand across the table. "I'm Clementine. What's your name?"_

"_Ricky."_

"Oh my gosh," Clementine blushed. "Please don't tell me I imprinted you with a savior complex!"

"You were always so wise for only being a year older than me. And _tall_."

"I think you've beat me in that department. And anyway, I was only 'wise' because I had to grow up before I should have. I think that's something a lot of fosters have in common."

"Well it worked out good for me. At least until you moved out."

"I would've taken you with me if I could've, but I'm glad I couldn't. I hit a lot of terrible homes after the Keets."

"I wish the system had more Margarets."

"Maybe one day." Clementine suddenly jumped up. "I know what I can get you. You still like PB and J's?"

"Is Terry Bozzio a genius?"

"I'll be right back!"

Ricky sank into the stained cushions of the college sofa and stared at the yellow rose seated in the coffee mug as he listened to Clementine hum from the kitchen.

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

Heather gripped Adrian's hand and spun her under her arm to the thumping beat of Elvis Presley's "All Shook Up." Her head was glistening with a bit of sweat from dancing so fiercely for hours and she was on the dance floor barefoot, having abandoned her shoes against the wall like many of the other girls who had purchased new shoes for the dance and had to take them off because their feet were hurting too much.

Adrian spun back and landed in the crook of her friend's arm, laughing until she could feel tears trying to form in her eyes. She blinked rapidly for a few minutes, still laughing. "Okay, okay, my turn!" she shouted over the lyrics. She wiggled out of Heather's arm and lifted her arm to spin out the redhead and hooted when Heather spun a little too far and crashed into a dancing couple nearby.

Ben was standing guard near the shoes lined against the wall, making sure that Heather's and Adrian's weren't taken by anyone. He noticed Ashley lingering a few feet away and waved to get her attention. "Hey," he said when she approached. "Why aren't you out there dancing? This is a good song."

"You're not dancing either."

"Yeah, but Heather wanted to dance with Adrian and Lisa wanted to dance with some friends, so I opted to watch their shoes. It's fine, I suck at dancing and my legs were getting tired anyway. Where's Toby?"

"Bathroom."

"Is something wrong?"

Ashley studied him for a minute. "Are you going to blab?"

Ben shook his head. "Of course not!"

Ashley stared at all the heels on the gym floor. "I don't feel as strongly about Toby as I did in the beginning."

Ben blinked. "Are you planning to break up with him?"

"I don't know," she said honestly. "Maybe. But I couldn't do it today. He's never done anything that would make him deserving of something that cruel."

"Did you two get in a fight?"

"No, nothing like that. I just…I won't say 'fell out of love' because I don't think we ever got to the point that we can say we're in love with each other, but maybe, 'fell out of lust' or 'fell out of like.'"

"And you're sure there's no one else?" Ben asked, raising an eyebrow.

Ashley looked away. "His study buddy flirted with me recently, but that has nothing to do with my feelings, or lack thereof, for Toby. I didn't flirt back though, I'm not my dad and I'm not going to turn into my dad. We may have a lot in common, but cheating is not one of the qualities we share," she said defensively.

"It's not my place to interfere–"

"You're absolutely right, it's not. Yours _or_ anyone else's."

"_But,"_ Ben interjected, "if you're sure you don't have feelings for him, you might want to end things soon. Don't lead him on, Ashley. Who knows, maybe he even feels the same way? But if not, you should cut him free."

Ashley looked over Ben's shoulder. "Here he comes."

"Hey!" Toby grinned. "Sorry it took me so long, the bathroom's a mess. They need to call a janitor, I think someone smuggled in something they shouldn't have." He shuddered. "So," he said, offering his hand, "get back out there?"

Ashley gave Ben a side eyed glance as the song changed. "Actually," she said quietly, "I just told Ben I'd watch the shoes for him. But…you could stand here with me."

"Yeah, sure, no prob."

"Thanks," Ben said uneasily. He saw Adrian and Heather motioning to him from the dance floor. "I guess I'm being summoned." He slipped into the fray and caught up with Adrian as Heather left to join back up with Lisa.

The corner of Adrian's mouth curled up as Ben offered his hand to her. She rested her hand into his larger one as "Rocketeer" crooned from the speakers and stepped into his orbit, winding her arm over his shoulder.

Ben dropped his head to whisper into Adrian's ear: "I'm glad we came tonight."

Adrian laid her head against his chest. She spotted Ashley and Toby swaying near the shoes and then noted Heather and Lisa with their arms draped around one another, as sweet as Hawaiian leis. "I got something for you," she admitted quietly. "But I was so mad that I didn't want to give it to you."

Ben nodded. "I have something for you too, but I wasn't sure if you'd accept it."

"At home?"

"Yeah."

Adrian nodded. "Maybe after we put Mercy to bed?"

"I'm sorry for anything I said. Or implied."

"I'm sorry I kept walking out on you. And Mercy. It was childish."

"We_ are _children."

"You are, but I'm eighteen. I'm supposed to be an adult now." Adrian slid her cheek across Ben's chest, trying to see if she could hear his heartbeat. "Can I ask you something?"

"Hm?"

"If you'd known living together was going to be so difficult, would you have still wanted to do it?"

Ben stopped moving. "Yes. Would you?"

Adrian finally located the heartbeat and listened to it several times as it sped up in her boyfriend's chest. She felt Ben's grip on her hand tighten and she swallowed thickly. "Yeah…"

Ben's body relaxed and his feet began to sway again. "Happy Valentine's Day, Adrian."

Adrian tilted her head back, accepting the crème touch of Ben's lips.


	9. Trip Flop

**A/N: **This chapter is rated "R" for adult themes.

_**Turning Tables**_

**Trip Flop**

Grace stood in front of a large mirror and several sinks, wearing the same mid-thigh length black dress she'd worn at her father's funeral. This time, however, she also wore dark nylons and a pair of black ballet flats with it, and the hair that formerly blew down her back came to rest at her shoulders, as it had since she'd cut it after running away to San Francisco. She'd decided to cover her bare arms with a black sweater and actively made the decision against wearing makeup, even so much as lip gloss. Her heart was pumping so fiercely that the surface of her skin seemed to be moving with the undulating waves of blood beneath it like a tsunami.

She picked up a small black purse from beneath the towel dispenser and walked out of the public restroom, stopping to smooth the skirt of her dress again as the door closed behind her. Grace pushed her hair behind her ears, then pulled it back out again; she repeated that twice more before finally choosing to leave it covering her ears. She turned the corner and headed down the courtroom hall until she came to D.A. Enriquez, who was waiting near the wooden double doors that looked like they'd been built for a giant's convenience.

Ruben guided Grace over to a bench and sat her down. "As soon as we return from recess, I'm going to call you to stand. You need to be as calm as you can. Do _not_ look at Grant, keep your eyes on me. I will question you first and we will take as long as we have to take to tell your story. We've gone over all of this in prep and I know Dr. Fields has done as much as he can to help you, but I want to remind you: I have to ask the hard questions and I need the most detailed and honest answers that you can give me. I know that's difficult, but we have make this as clear as possible for the jury. We don't want to give the defense team _any_ leeway."

"I understand."

"Are you ready?"

"No, but I have to do this."

Ruben checked his watch. "All right." He stood and moved to the heavy doors. "Whatever happens in there, thank you."

"For what?"

"For telling your story."

Grace felt the sweat spilling at the back of her legs, neck, and armpits. She swallowed, but her mouth was already dry as she stood from the bench and crossed to Ruben who opened the door. The courtroom felt chokingly humid as she entered. She noted the people who had come: on the prosecution's side of the room was her mother, but not George, who had stayed home to take care of Christian, though he had desperately wanted to be there too. Ben was there, as Bunny had allowed him to rearrange his schedule for the first day of the trial, but Adrian was not, as Stanley had refused the same request. The Shakurs, Ricky, and Heather were also in attendance. She was thankful that nobody from church had decided to come as well.

On the other side of the room the only people she recognized were Grant's parents, Vic Volberg and Carrie Costigan. She noted Griffin's absence. There were several others as well, many of whom had turned to stare at her as she moved down the aisle and up to the first row, where she took a seat beside her mother.

Kathleen draped her arm around her daughter's shoulders and together they watched as Ruben moved through the gate and took his seat at the prosecution's table with the assistant district attorney. She reached her other hand to overlap Grace's and squeezed the teenager's clammy limb.

The judge's chamber door opened and Grace trapped her breath in her lungs.

"All rise for the Honorable Judge Rowlins."

Grace trembled to her feet, feeling as though she was wearing eight inch heels that might send her toppling onto her face at any moment.

Judge Rowlins smacked his gavel against his podium and waited for the people in the courtroom to seat themselves again. "This court is now in session. Mr. Enriquez, are you prepared to call your witness?"

"We are, Your Honor."

"Proceed."

"We'd like to call Grace Bowman to the stand."

Grace reached into her purse and pulled out a miniature water bottle. She unscrewed it as she fumbled from her seat and took a drink as she passed the defense table, careful not to let her eyes wander as she found her way into the witness box.

"Please raise your right hand."

Grace lifted her hand.

"Do you affirm to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth under the penalties of perjury?"

"I do."

"You may be seated."

Ruben approached the witness stand, using his body to block Grace's view of the defense table. He waited for her to set her water down and then said, "Please state your name and address for the record."

Grace sat as straight as she could, feeling the hard wooden rods of the witness chair grinding against her spine and shoulder blades. She stole a deep breath to clear the toxins from her mind and began calmly, "Grace Kathleen Bowman…"

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"Excuse me, but can we kindly get a little help over here?"

Adrian dropped the ice cream scoop she was washing into the sink and peeled off her gloves. She gave her hands a rinse, dry, and then approached the impatient customer with the condescending look on the other side of the ice cream display. "What can I help you with, ma'am?" she forced out of her voice box.

"Mommy, Mommy, Mommy!" a little boy about four or five shrieked. "I want_ that_ one!" He jumped up and down as if he'd already consumed a tub of ice cream and pointed to the electric blue bubble gum ice cream that was half gone.

"How much, Dominic?"

"All of it!"

"You can't have all of it. How many scoops?"

"A thousand!"

"Dominic!" his mother snapped.

The little boy stopped jumping, folded his arms, and slunk to the floor in what appeared to be the early stages of a fit.

"We'll take three scoops," the woman instructed before bending down to console the child.

Adrian grabbed a clean scoop in disgust and began to roll the ice cream in the tub. She imagined Mercy acting like that in four years and it made her sick to think that she might give in as easily as the woman on the floor. "Would you like that in a cone or a cup?" Adrian asked monotonously.

"Do you want your ice cream in a cone or a cup, Dom?"

Dominic began to roll his head along the display and fling his arms and legs to keep his mother from touching him.

"Just put it in a cup!" the woman snapped.

Adrian rolled her eyes and began to heave the frozen blue balls into a cup. She packed them down to fit. "Do you want anything else?" she asked, raising her voice so it was audible over the tantrum.

"Gummy Bears! You like Gummy Bears, don't you, Dominic?"

Adrian shoveled the candy onto the ice cream, but chose to only put half as many as normally required for a single scoop on, then moved to the register and topped the cup with a lid. She entered the purchase into the register, took the woman's debit, and tersely thanked her for her business. After she'd watched the woman haul her screaming offspring out, she slipped off to the back room and discreetly retrieved the cell phone—set to silent—from her purse.

"I think she should've named him 'Demonic' instead, how about you?" Amy's voice asked from behind.

Adrian turned swiftly and tried to laugh, but she was too preoccupied.

"Nothing?"

Adrian shook her head: no missed calls and no missed texts.

Amy leaned against the freezer door. "I would say that I can't believe Stanley refused to give us—or at least you—the time off, but I can. If I hadn't had to work too, I would've traded hours with you."

"I wonder if she's on the stand yet?" Adrian asked out loud.

Amy shrugged. "Maybe it'll be easier for her without us there?"

"Easier without the moral support?" Adrian asked sarcastically.

"Well she is going to have to tell the most intimate details of what happened to everyone in there. If it was me, I don't know if I'd want all my friends and family to know those things."

"I hadn't thought of that."

Amy hugged herself. "I hope she's okay."

"That makes two of us."

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"…and I grew up actively involved in my church."

"And what does that mean?"

Grace cleared her throat. "It means I grew up with deep faith in the Lord and I honor His wishes."

"Such as?"

"Such as abstaining from sex before marriage."

Ruben nodded. "Have your feelings about that ever waivered?"

"No."

"Not even on the evening of March eighth, two-thousand-ten?"

Grace curled her fingers around the armrests of the witness chair like grapevines and grit her teeth. _"No."_

"Did anything occur that night?"

"I was raped."

"Can you identify the person who raped you, Miss Bowman?"

Grace made sure to pan her neck from one side of the room to the other. "Can you step out of my way?" She waited patiently as Ruben removed himself from her direct line of sight and she glared down the defense table. She pointed her finger. "The m – individual in the black suit and tie, staring at me from the defense table: Grant Volberg."

"Let the record show that the witness has identified the defendant."

"So noted."

Ruben stepped back into Grace's line of vision. "Can you tell us the details of that attack?"

"I'd fallen asleep on the couch that afternoon and woke up to the sound of the doorbell. When I answered the door, it was Grant. I immediately asked him what he was doing, because we'd broken up in November. _I_ broke up with him –"

"What were your reasons for breaking up with him?"

"Objection! That's not relevant to the events of March eighth!"

"On the contrary, Your Honor!" Ruben fired back. "It establishes a pattern of behavior."

"I'll allow it, but don't stray too far from the night at hand, counselor."

Ruben nodded to Grace. "Please…"

"I broke up with him because I didn't like the way he was treating me; he was scaring me. The final straw was when I found out he was planning to transfer to my school because he was afraid I might cheat on him with my friend, Ricky. He saw us dancing at a Halloween party and became obsessed with the idea that I might cheat on him!"

"Objection! Is the witness qualified to determine what 'obsession' is? Does she have any credentials that would allow her to give a professional opinion on Mr. Volberg's state of mind?"

"Your Honor, she's not finished. This part of the testimony introduces a key piece of evidence."

Judge Rowlins nodded. "I'll hear what the witness has to say and then make up my mind."

"Thank you, Your Honor."

Grace took another sip of her water. "After the party my friend sent me a video that she'd taken of Grant at the party. It was his reaction to seeing Ricky and I dancing together. The look on his face…"

"Prosecution Exhibit A," Ruben said, holding up a bag with a flash drive.

"Approach, Your Honor!"

The judge motioned for Ruben and Grant's lawyer to stand at the bench.

"This is outrageous, Your Honor! I've seen the video in question and there is no way the prosecution can prove what Mr. Volberg was reacting to. The dance the witness refers to is nowhere on the footage."

"The defendant's reaction supports Miss Bowman's claim of Mr. Volberg's short and irrational temper. It directly relates to her rationale for breaking up with him and his repeated attempts to get back together with her."

"The prosecution is trying to take a random reaction – taped on sketchy home video at best – and use it as 'proof' of their claims. They are trying to distract the jurors by getting further and further away from the events of March eighth and hoping to win their case based on an out-of-context reaction from a _Halloween_ party! This is unacceptable, Your Honor!"

Ruben opened his mouth, but the judge silenced him by raising his hand. "I will review the footage in my chamber and make a decision at that point." He took the flash drive from Ruben and waited until both the prosecution and the defense had returned to their tables. He smacked his gavel. "This court will recess until four o'clock."

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"Grace barely got into her testimony when they recessed for fifteen minutes so the judge could make his ruling on you video," Ben's voice said from the other end of Adrian's cellular phone.

"Does it look like they'll allow it?" Adrian asked.

Amy was hovering beside Adrian, standing as close as she could in an attempt to hear Ben's side of the conversation.

"I don't know."

Adrian exchanged a worried expression with the brunette. "That doesn't sound good."

"The defense requested to approach the bench about it. They were whispering, so nobody could hear what they were saying, except maybe Grace because she was sitting in the witness box, but I haven't had a chance to talk to her because she went to the bathroom with her mom. But I get the impression Grant's lawyer is trying to argue hearsay."

"His face is on tape!" Adrian snapped.

"Yeah, but you said yourself you never knew what he was looking at until Ricky told you at school that Grant said he saw him dancing with Grace. The hearsay isn't the expression, it's what caused the expression. We know Grant's a liar, he's probably already spun something in the event that they do allow the tape."

"Juergens, Lee, a little help out front!" Stanley's voice shouted.

Amy rubbed her temples.

"Thanks for keeping us—uh, me—updated, Ben. But I have to go," Adrian said, glaring in the direction of Stanley's voice.

"Okay, I'll call again if I have the chance."

"Bye, Ben." Adrian hung up and dropped her phone back into her purse.

"What if they don't allow the video?" Amy asked, mostly rhetorically.

Adrian rubbed her uneasy stomach. "They've still got the bedding…that's got to count for something, right?"

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"I think I've lost two pounds in sweat," Heather complained. She kept scratching at the nylons she was wearing and sneaking off into corners to hike them up. "This is why I haven't worn these medieval torture devices since elementary school, they never stay where they should and they constantly give you wedgies."

"Why don't you just take them off?" Ricky asked. "You know the dress would've been fine."

"It looks more refined with nylons."

"You're not the one who has to testify," Ricky reminded her.

"Still, the jury is going to look at the people who have shown up to support Grace, are they not? They shouldn't, but aesthetics _do_ count."

Ricky nodded, unable to argue with Heather's logic.

"Nutter Butters, anyone?" Shakur asked as he and Margaret returned from the vending machine.

"Oooh," Heather purred. "I love Nutter Butters!" She snatched the miniature package from Shakur's hand and ripped it open, careful to eat over the package so she wouldn't get crumbs down the front of her black dress.

"Thanks, Dad." Ricky peeled open his package as Margaret draped an arm around his shoulders. "What?" he asked, eyeing his mother as if she were a double agent.

"I know this must be difficult for you," she said, quietly enough that Heather and Shakur wouldn't overhear.

"I'm not the one testifying," Ricky said.

"Still," Margaret said, letting the word hang in the air like a fog.

Ricky shoved a Nutter Butter into his mouth instead of following up with something to say.

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

Kathleen shut her cell phone and turned to her daughter. "It's almost time."

Grace peeled off a wet, rolled up paper towel that she'd draped around her bare neck and rinsed it under the automatic faucet. "Just give me another minute."

Kathleen pressed her hands to Grace's shoulders and began to knead the tense flesh through the fuzzy material of Grace's sweater.

"I didn't even get to the worst part."

"I know. But you'll get through it, because you're strong."

"What if I break down on the stand?"

"Nobody will blame you."

Grace turned her cheek and rubbed it against her mother's fingers. "I don't want to go back in there." She dabbed her forehead and flushed cheeks with the rolled up paper towel. "I wish I could hold Christian right now."

"George says he's doing fine; taking a nap right now."

Grace nodded. "What time is it now?"

Kathleen checked her phone again. "We have two minutes."

Grace dropped the paper towel into the trash and washed her hands.

Kathleen held her daughter's hand as they exited the women's restroom and joined Ruben and their close friends at the entrance to the courtroom.

"How ya doin', Blondie?"

Grace smiled at Heather and leaned in for a hug.

"That well, huh?" Heather joked.

"We're here for you, Grace," Ricky added.

"All of us. Even those of us who can't physically be here."

Grace knew Ben was talking about Adrian, but she thought of her father as well and nodded. "I know. And I thank you all for your support."

"We've got to get back in there," Ruben announced.

Grace smoothed her skirt once again.

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"That's coming out of your check, Juergens!"

Adrian came up behind Stanley who was standing in front of the freezer door and peered around him to see Amy inside, standing over a brand new tub of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream that was lying on its side with a TV remote sized tear in the package where the frozen substance was bulging out like an infectious wound. "Well maybe if we didn't have to wear these ridiculous dresses to _work _in this wouldn't have happened!"

"Hey, if you don't like the company dress code, you're free to quit!"

"Easy for you to say since you get to wear pants!"

"Well since you feel so strongly about taking her side, why don't you help her clean it up? It better be spotless when I return!" Stanley shouted.

Goose bumps grew on Adrian's skin as she entered the freezer and bent down to help Amy lift the broken tub.

"I wish there was some way we could get that guy fired. Or at least change the 'company dress code.'"

"You think we could hide this somewhere in here?"

Amy blinked. "Why?"

"Well if it's coming out of your paycheck anyway, you might as well keep it. I would. It's perfectly good ice cream, the package just popped, so if you can just get it into smaller containers, why not?"

Amy nodded. "Maybe I can call my dad and see if he can bring some containers down? Grace has got that collection of Tupperware, right? I know he's going stir crazy over at the Bowmans' place anyway."

"Just make sure he doesn't cause a scene about it with Stanley, you don't want to get fired."

Amy drew a face. "Good point."

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"…I have to agree with Mrs. Sharp," Judge Rowlins said. "The belief for the defendant's reaction in the tape is entirely speculatory, so I'm afraid I cannot allow the jury to see it. For the same reason, I'm going to honor the defense's earlier objection."

Grant's attorney shot a smug smile at Ruben as she returned to her seat beside her client.

"I'm ordering the jury to disregard the witness's use of 'obsession' as I can find no grounds for it at this time. Ms. Bowman, please continue with your testimony."

"Grace," Ruben said, once again on his feet. "I believe you were explaining to us your reasoning for ending your relationship with Mr. Volberg. He desired to switch schools?"

Grace nodded. "He was attending a private school, yet he was going to transfer to Grant in the fall, perhaps even as soon as after midterms until I confronted him about this and said I needed time."

"And did he give you time?"

"It didn't take me very long. Once I began thinking about everything that had happened between us—his constant texts, his jealousy over me spending time with my friends, him constantly pressuring me for sex, and finally him wanting to switch schools—I decided to end things."

"What do you mean, him constantly pressuring you for sex?"

"He told me that he'd had sex before and he wanted to have sex with me too, but I made it clear that I believed in abstinence only. I thought he had accepted that at first, but then he would continuously make jokes about sex that I didn't appreciate, like suggesting I be a wall socket and he be a plug for Halloween."

"And when you ended the relationship, what was Grant's reaction?"

"He thought I wanted to meet him to makeup and he brought me a bouquet of roses. When I told him I was breaking up with him, he snapped the bouquet with his bare hands and threw them at my feet. He said, 'Screw you!' before flooring it out of the parking lot."

"And did you have any contact with him between the breakup and March eighth?"

"Yes, early February was the first time: I was on a date and I ran into Grant and his cousin at the theater. That night after Jason dropped me off at home, I got a blocked call on my cell phone, but the caller just hung up."

"Objection! A disconnected call has nothing to do with –"

"If the defense would stop interrupting the witness, we would all find out why this call was relevant."

"Overruled, for now."

Grace resisted the urge to look across to the defense table. "I kept receiving these calls until March seventh and all I'd hear on the other end was silence. They occurred both on my cell phone and my house phone. On March seventh, Grant showed up at my church for a Sunday service and claimed all he wanted to do was talk and drop off a bag of maternity clothes that he didn't get to my New Lease on Life Drive the day before."

"Did you happen to ask Grant about the mysterious calls?"

"Yes and he didn't directly deny them at first and then he said, and I quote, 'I haven't been calling and hanging up.' That night we got another call during dinner."

"But no more contact with Grant?"

"Not until the next evening, March eighth, when I woke up to him ringing the doorbell. I was shocked to see him, but he begged to speak with me."

"About?"

"He said he wanted to get back together. I told him, in no uncertain terms, that it was out of the question and I told him to leave. I kept trying to shut the door, but he'd wedged his foot into the doorframe. I thought he was finally going to go when he removed it, only to shove his hand into the frame as I shut the door."

"So you crushed his hand in the door?"

"Accidentally. I felt terrible and I took him upstairs to the bathroom to clean the wound. That's when…" Grace's voice snagged.

Ruben placed his hand on the edge of the witness stand. "That's when what, Grace?"

_Her voice was cut off by Grant's wounded hand cupping her mouth. Everything in her hands fell either into the sink with the water still running or to the floor._

_Grant slammed the medicine cabinet door shut and pulled Grace to him so that she could see their reflections in the mirror. He pressed his mouth to her ear. "I need you, Grace. I need you with me; I need to hear your voice every day." He shook his head as Grace tried to scream against his hand, but it only came out a muffled sound. "Why do you always hang up on me? I only hung up the first time, by accident. I was so surprised you answered."_

_Grace struggled against him, but his grip on her was too strong. She could see her face turning red and the tears bowling down her cheeks in the mirror. She tried to plead with him, but her words only hit his swollen fingers in a muffled mess._

"That's when he grabbed me from behind and wrapped his hand around my mouth so I couldn't scream. He kept telling how much he 'needed' me. He also admitted to the phones calls."

"I thought he denied those?"

Grace shook her head. "He denied 'calling and hanging up,' _plural_, because he had only hung up the first time, 'by accident,' to quote him. The other times_ I_ had hung up. Or my mom. Or brother. Or whoever answered the phone."

"Did he say anything else?"

"He said that he hated that I was dating Jason and he kept asking why I couldn't see how perfect we had been together."

"Did you respond to this?"

"I couldn't speak—and I was desperate—so I nodded. When he took his hand off my mouth, I began to say anything I could to get out of the situation, so I told him that he was right and I would dump Jason and get back together with him. I thought that if I could stall long enough, I could wait until my mother and brother got back home…but it didn't work."

"How so?"

"He told me that he needed more than my word to prove that I was dedicated to him again. I suggested making out, but he said that wasn't enough. I knew right then what he meant, but I didn't want to believe it. When I argued that I didn't believe in sex before marriage, he said that in some cultures premarital sex is acceptable if the couple follows through with getting married. I tried to say that wasn't my culture, but he wouldn't listen…he picked me up and carried me off to my bedroom." Grace swallowed, but her mouth was too dry. "He said, 'It's okay, Grace. I promise to be gentle with you.'" She felt her cheeks begin to burn and the courtroom began to disappear in a wash of watercolors.

"Grace," Ruben said carefully, "what happened _after_ Grant carried you into the bedroom?"

"I was kicking and crying and pleading with him…" Grace said, her voice faint. "But he just kept telling me, 'I love you' and 'I can't wait to marry you.' He laid me on the bed and climbed on top of me…I tried to – but – he was too strong…and then he – h-he s-slipped his hand up under my skirt, beneath my-my underwear and…"

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"Did someone ask for Tupperware?"

"Dad!" Amy shouted. She ran out from behind the counter and hugged her father who was wearing Christian in a sling on his chest and balancing a large trash bag in his hand, presumably filled with the aforementioned Tupperware.

"Hey, Adrian," George greeted.

"George," Adrian nodded.

"How's your mom?"

Adrian shrugged. "Fine, last I saw."

"Hm," George murmured awkwardly. "Well you don't look as busy as I thought you would."

"You should've seen us a half hour ago," Amy said. She wiggled her hand at Christian. "How's the babysitting?"

"Oh, you know," George shrugged. "A lot of sleeping, burping, and pooping."

"I think she meant the baby," Adrian spoke up.

"Hardy har har," George responded in the Latina's direction.

Amy took the bag from her father. "I'll be right back."

"So where's this a-hole boss I keep hearing so much about?" George asked.

"He left early again, as per usual," Adrian scowled. "Snuck off to the bathroom in the middle of a rush and was conveniently tied up in there until the second-to-last customer was taken care of. And then, 'because it's going slow,' he decided to take off."

"I'd like to have a word with this –"

"No!" Adrian interrupted.

"Why not? If he's treating you girls like dirt –"

"Math, George: bad plus worse…no thank you!"

George's face suddenly contorted and he waved his hand at Christian's back. "Oh boy, looks like we have situation number two here!"

Adrian pointed to the customers' men's restroom door. "Changing table."

George pinched his nose. "We might need Hazmat."

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

Ruben handed Grace a box of tissues, as she was outwardly sobbing on the witness box.

Grace smeared the tissues across her sopping eyes, cheeks, and flowing nose. She shook her head, missing the way she could hide her face behind her long hair. The feeling of being so exposed in front of so many strangers was crippling; the feeling of being exposed in front of so many friends and family was worse.

Ruben waited out Grace's sobs until she had somewhat composed herself and then calmly asked, "How many times did penetration occur?"

Grace erupted in another bout of shaking and sobbing and thrashing her head back and forth. "I don't know! Between his fingers and his – and _him_, I don't know!"

"_I love you, Grace. I love you so – ugh…s-so mu – ch." _

_Grace's body had long since ceased to struggle. The experience felt out of body for a while, as though she was watching a life sized doll being maneuvered and posed. Blanking out her mind allowed for survival._

"_I want…mmm…to know that you love me a – as much as I love you."_

"I just remember going out of my body at one point. There was so much pain and blood that I just left myself."

"How intense was the stimulation?" Ruben tried again.

"_I knew you loved me. I was right, you were just holding back your feelings."_ _Grant cupped the curve of Grace's cheek in his hand and suckled her lower lip before enveloping her mouth in a sweaty kiss._

"Enough to_ force_ an orgasm," Grace replied venomously. "I didn't even know what was happening. I was virgin. I _was_ a virgin! It just felt like my whole body was betraying me; it didn't even feel like it was my body anymore."

"Can you tell us what happened after Grant left?"

"I remember things in flashes, like a tape skipping in and out: I remember the sound of him zipping up his pants, it was like a scream, and I remember his shadow falling over me and the smell of me all over him as he leaned in to kiss me goodbye. 'I'll promise I'll see you tomorrow,' he said. 'I love you,' he said. But, I didn't see him."

"Did you call the police?"

"No."

"_Why?"_

Grace shook her head. "If I impaled you for hours, do you think you'd have the strength to call the police after? I barely remember what I did for the rest of the night; somehow I ended up in the bathroom, vomiting until my stomach was empty and I _still_ couldn't get the taste of him out of me!"

"Why didn't you call the police then?"

"You mean bloody and bruised and leaking fluids that weren't my own?" She noticed one of the women on the jury flinch.

"What did you do after you vomited?"

"I took a shower," Grace said simply. "I turned the water on until my skin blistered and I scrubbed myself until those blisters popped and yet I still. Wasn't. Clean. By then my mom thought I was sick and she was right, she just didn't know why. So I went to my room and I changed the sheets. I hid the ones _he_ bloodied in bins in my closet and I climbed into bed and that's where I stayed for a week. I only know that because my mother told me. In my head time just stopped and I retreated to this gray place. I guess you'd call it a limbo. The only things I remember are the times my mom brought me soup and told me that _he_ had been by to see me: six times, one for each day that I refused to get out of bed. I would've stayed there longer if she'd let me, but she wanted me to see a doctor, so I agreed to go to school."

"Why didn't you want to see a doctor?"

"I didn't want someone touching me, not again!"

"And on the day that you returned to school?" Ruben prodded. "What happened?"

"I went to school," Grace repeated. "And then I went to the public library…and I hid there until they closed."

"Why?"

"I didn't want to go home and have to see _him_. But I realized I couldn't do that every day for the rest of my life. That's why I began to search for help online. So when the library closed, I got in my car and I drove to a parking lot and I just sat there until it was dark. Maybe two or three in the morning."

"And then what?"

"I went home. I saw Adrian's car parked out in front of my house, so I turned off my lights and I parked in front of the neighbor's house. I went inside, through the back, and everything was silent, so I went up to my room and I packed everything I could find into my luggage, I put the sheets into garbage bags, and I took it all down to my car and I left. I emptied my bank account on my way out of town."

"Where did you go?"

"San Francisco."

"What was in San Francisco?"

"A survivors support group. An anonymous support group. I found them online and I sent them an e-mail. I didn't know exactly where they were at first, I just found their message board and I had to wait for them to approve my account. I stayed in motels and my car for a couple weeks before I attended a meeting; they had to be sure I was who I said I was and not someone who was going to bring harm any of the members. I met with the head of the group first and she took me to my first meeting."

"Who was this woman?"

"I told you, the group's anonymous; I can't tell you."

"Even if they can help you?"

"They did help me, which is why I won't breech their privacy."

"Your first police report is dated May fourteenth, over two months after the attack. Why did you change your mind about filing a report?"

"Since I'm under oath, I'll tell you that I might never have returned home." Grace touched her hand to her stomach. "But the truth was too big to ignore. Literally. I knew I couldn't do it by myself."

"Do what?"

"Raise a child. The child my rapist left me with."

"You were pregnant as a result of Grant's rape?"

"That's what I just said."

"Why didn't you get an abortion?"

"A lot of women in my situation would have," Grace said. "But like I said at the beginning, I have strong morals because of my faith. I don't believe in abortion. Not even after what Grant did to me. Christian wasn't the one who raped me, Grant was, and Christian didn't deserve to die for that…but his father…" She let the jurors finish that thought in their own minds.

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"Were you waiting up for me?" Adrian asked when she finally got home and found her boyfriend slumped over the table.

"Yeah…and I couldn't sleep," he sheepishly admitted.

Adrian dropped her backpack onto the floor and purse onto the table. She slapped down a Tupperware container full of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream. "Wanna talk about it?"

Ben pried the lid off the top of the container as Adrian brought two spoons over from the drawer. "The trial," he said, as exhausted as though he'd just finished a triathlon. Ben dug one of the spoons into the soft ice cream and sucked on it like a popsicle.

"What happened after your last call? You never texted like you said you would." Adrian sucked off a ball of ice cream from her spoon.

"I'm sorry." He hung his head. "You have no idea…the things Grace described, it was _horrible_."

"Ben, they are trying to prosecute someone for rape. You didn't go in there thinking it would be glitter and rainbows, did you?"

"Of course I didn't!" he responded, offense dripping off his words. "And it sounds terrible, but I'm always going to look at her differently now, knowing what I know. Not differently at _her,_ just…differently. I can't explain it better than that. I love Grace, she's my friend and she's been so good to us, and I want Grant to suffer somuch! Unless you hear the words from her mouth, you won't understand. I don't even know if I'll be able to sleep tonight." Ben shoved his spoon into the ice cream and left it there.

Adrian stuck her spoon in too and reached across the table for Ben's hand.

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"Ricky?"

Ricky rolled over in the dark. The voice was Heather's, but somehow it didn't sound like Heather at all. "Heather?" He heard the soft plod of her footsteps until he felt the air move across his face as she reached his beside. He sat up and located her silhouette in the dark. "Are you okay?"

"Do you have any extra room?"

Ricky edged to the other side of the bed and patted the mattress.

Heather crawled onto the warm spot he'd vacated and rested her head on half his pillow.

Ricky squinted in the dark, trying to read her face even though it was a useless venture. Lying on his bed with her was a tight fit, but somehow it seemed appropriate. He tried to imagine what Heather might've looked like as a little girl, maybe four or five; he tried to imagine, if he had known her then, if he'd have let her crawl into bed with him because she was afraid of the dark. But it wasn't the dark that had her up in the dead of night.

"Those things Grace talked about…" Heather whispered.

"Shhh," Ricky hushed, knowing where she was going with that. "Don't think about me and don't think about Grace. Go to sleep."

"I don't want to. I'm afraid of what I'll see."

Ricky found her cheek in the darkness and it felt wet beneath his fingertips. "Go to sleep," he said again. "I won't let you see anything you shouldn't." He rubbed her cheek with his thumb until it was dry; until he heard the soft sound of a snore in the abyss.

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"Gracie, what are you doing up?" Kathleen asked, tying the belt of her robe as she shuffled into the kitchen.

"I don't know," Grace said, staring into a cup of cold tea.

"Maybe the better question is_ why_ are you up?"

"Probably the same reason you and Christian are," Grace said, with a nod toward the bassinet at her side.

Kathleen took a seat opposite her daughter. "Maybe because you are? Has he been crying?" She peered over the tabletop, but she couldn't see into the bassinet from her seat.

"No, just staring."

"Bottle?"

"He won't take one."

"Diaper?"

"Clean."

Kathleen scratched her chin. "You've got to get some sleep, honey. I can stay up with him if you want to get to bed."

Grace shook her head. "I can't sleep either."

"Is this about the cross-examination?"

"Partly. Mr. Enriquez didn't sugar coat it: she's going to be brutal. The only satisfaction is that I get to see him go after Grant when he gets up there."

"Do you think he will? He doesn't have to testify."

"Yes he does," Grace said. "He's been playing the open and honest falsely accused for weeks. If he doesn't get up on the stand, then people will wonder why. Besides, he's far too cocky to think Mr. Enriquez will be able to trip him up. And maybe, just maybe, he's so screwed up that he genuinely believes what he did to me wasn't a crime."

"No," Kathleen said resolutely. "He knows exactly what he did!"

Grace spun the teabag in her mug. "They're going to try and make a mockery of me, aren't they?"

"They're going to end up making a mockery of themselves."

"I feel like the deck is stacked against me right now. Even though I'm in the right."

"We just have to have faith, Gracie. Faith that it will all turn out the way it should." Kathleen turned her hands over, revealing her palms, and motioned for Grace to take her hands. "Pray with me."

Grace dropped her hands into her mother's and squeezed.

"Dear Lord," Kathleen began, "we ask for your strength today. And the next day. And every day left of this trial. We ask that you empower Grace to get through the cross-examination, we ask that you embolden the rest of us so that we may stand with her, and most of all, we ask for justice. You answered my prayers when you brought Grace back safely to me all those months ago and I know it's a big request, but please, if you could just answer them one more time…"

Grace leaned out from her chair and embraced her mother.

"Amen."

"Amen."


	10. 911

**A/N: **I was so nearly done with this chapter and then I had a major bout of writer's block, followed by slipping on a puddle in the bathroom made by my wet hair which caused my hand to swell up for a week (luckily I didn't crack my head open though, so there's that), and then more writer's block. So I'm sorry about the wait!

_**Turning Tables**_

**911**

"Mom, what are you doing here?" Adrian asked, shocked by her mother's appearance at The Scoop.

"I know we were planning to discuss things this weekend, but I've been asked to pull an extra shift so I won't be able to." In response to Adrian's drawn out face, she set her laptop bag on a nearby table and retrieved a folder of papers. "Are you able to take a break?"

Adrian glanced at her watch. "I'm taking my ten!" she hollered towards the backroom and skirted out from behind the counter before Stanley could holler back in protest. She took her mother to the table in the far corner of the ice cream shop and sat her down. "Are we going to be able to go over this in depth in ten minutes?"

"Probably not, which is why I made you copies. You can call me and we can talk over the phone if you have questions."

Adrian cracked open the folder and pulled out a tuft of papers. She examined them. "Is this how much is in the account?"

"Twenty-five-thousand," Cindy nodded. "I set it up when you were just a baby and I've been adding to it as much as I could ever since. I know it seems like a lot, but it's really not. A single semester at some colleges could wipe that out. But for a standard four year university education, not a big name school, it should be enough to cover your primary expenses. I wish I could've done more–"

"You were a single teenage mother," Adrian interrupted. "It's amazing you were able to do this…and I'm grateful."

"Now you do understand that it has to be spent on education related expenses, don't you?"

"Tuition, textbooks, etc," Adrian nodded. "I got it."

"And you've been applying for scholarships?"

"As many as I can get my hands on, between work, school, and parenting."

"And have you looked into financial aid?"

"Mr. Molina's discussed that with me, but I haven't filled out a FAFSA yet, I just haven't had time."

"Don't forget about that!" Cindy warned with a raised finger. "I've known people who've gotten twenty-five hundred or three thousand a semester from federal grants. Those are the kind you want to get, the grants, not the loans."

"I know, Mom."

"It's always good to be reminded though." Cindy tapped the college fund information. "And when you get the grants, you can spend that money on anything. Even gas or a new laptop or rent. It's scholarships and this fund that you have to prove you're using for school expenses, so be sure to keep all your documentation."

"I can spend a grant on rent?"

"Yeah! I knew one girl who got more in financial aid than her tuition and books were every semester, so it was like she was getting 'paid' to go to school. Not by much, only about five hundred or so left over, but it still gave her a padding of gas money because she was living at home, but still, that's better than being in the red, isn't it, _Chica_?"

Adrian nodded. "Maybe education will save us after all."

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"Ms. Bowman," Mrs. Sharp addressed as she sauntered up to the witness stand. "You testified yesterday that you broke up with Mr. Volberg in November?"

"Yes."

"You also testified that the first time you had contact with Grant following your breakup was in February?"

"Correct."

"While you were on a date with a…" Mrs. Sharp swooped over to the defense table and picked up a police report. "…Jason Treacy, according to the police reports after you became a runaway."

"I was not a runaway," Grace replied.

"You didn't run away to San Francisco then, as you testified yesterday?"

"I went there, yes, but I'm not a runaway like you're–"

"Please," Mrs. Sharp interrupted. "Can you answer my original question: Jason Treacy?"

"Yes, Jason and I were on a date that day," Grace glared.

"And you later referred to Mr. Treacy as your boyfriend in yesterday's testimony, which he confirms when he was interviewed after you'd run away. Tell me, when did you begin dating Mr. Treacy?"

"Objection!" Ruben yelled. He was on his feet in no time. "The witness's dating history is of no relevance to whether Grant Volberg raped her!"

"Normally I would agree, Your Honor," Mrs. Sharp replied smoothly. "But the prosecution spent all of yesterday emphasizing Mr. Bowman's 'good Christian girl' morality. Are we just supposed to take Ms. Bowman's word on that? My client says he did not assault the witness, that the sex was consensual. Uncovering Ms. Bowman's track record on her religious convictions in this case is an absolutely valid line of questioning."

"You Honor!" Ruben sneered. "Where in the Bible does it forbid a young woman from breaking up with her boyfriend and getting another? The defense's argument has no foundation."

"Sustained," Judge Rowlins said. "Please move on."

Mrs. Sharp sucked in cheeks as she turned back to Grace. "Ms. Bowman," she said tersely, "you also mentioned yesterday something called a 'New Lease on Life Drive'? What was that?"

"It was a collection drive I organized at my church," Grace said proudly. "I was collecting gently used clothes, baby items, and cash donations for young mothers in an effort to help them support their children."

"_Young mothers,"_ Mrs. Sharp repeated. "And what inspired you to do this?"

"Like I said, I don't believe in abortion."

"That's all?"

"My close friends, Adrian and Heather, were also inspirations. Adrian kept her daughter, while Heather gave hers up for adoption."

"How did you meet Adrian and Heather?"

"At school."

"When?"

"My freshman and sophomore years."

"So, they're _teenage_ mothers?" Mrs. Sharp said, eyeing the jury. "Two s_exually active _teenage 'close friends'?"

"Objection!"

"Your Honor, certainly the witness's 'close friends' are influential aspects of her life."

"It is possible to be friends with people, but not share all of their moral views," Ruben argued.

"It's also possible to be peer pressured," Mrs. Sharp volleyed back. "Especially in high school. Children make mistakes; they do things they regret."

"I'm inclined to agree with Mrs. Sharp," the judge announced, looking at her. "Which is why I will give you leeway here, but don't abuse it. Remember that this is about the witness, not her friends, and should you stray too far from that point, I will have to steer you back on course."

"Of course, Your Honor." Mrs. Sharp smiled. She returned to Grace, blocking her view of Ruben, but leaving a line of sight open to the defense table.

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

_Shhhk._

_Shhhhk._

"What the hell?" Ben looked down at his shoes and noticed he was standing in a thin layer of water. He lifted his foot and his shoe made another squeaking-slop. He began to look around and noticed the ripple of the water seemed to be coming from ahead, so he followed it until it brought him to the employee restroom. The door was shut, but the water was moving out from under it. He quickly banged on it, but when nobody answered he threw it open and flicked on the light, disturbed to discover that the toilet bowl was flooding over. "Bunny!"

"Whatever it is, deal with it!" Bunny's voice shouted back. "I'm taking an important call!"

Ben bounced up and down as the water climbed higher, riding over the rubber toes of his shoes. He began to hunt around, searching for a way to turn off the water. Finally he noticed the metal tubing behind the toilet and hesitated before bending down. Each time he got closer his face would crumple up like overused tinfoil. Finally he hunched down and began to twist the almond shaped knob as the toilet water soaked into the cuffs of his pants. "Ew, ew, ew, ewwwwww!"

When the water seemed to have stopped, Ben cautiously pulled the toilet lid back to make sure and sighed in relief. He then took another look at the restroom where the floor was covered in about a half an inch of water and then down at his black slacks, where the water had crawled up the fabric to his knees. He shuddered as he moved to sink with the intent to wash his hands and then noticed a pool of water where, which seemed to be rising. Ben gulped and splashed out of the restroom. _"Bunny!"_

"I told you!" Bunny scolded while smacking the phone back into its cradle. "I was taking an important call!" Her eyes pinched together as she looked him up and down, noticing his wet pant legs and water glistened shoes. "What on Earth happened to you?"

"That's what I've been trying to tell you!" Ben said, contorting his hands into claw shapes in frustration. "The toilet in the employee bathroom was spilling over! I think I turned it off, but it looks like the sink is filling up too! It's all over the hallway!"

Bunny's eyes popped and she immediately lunged in the direction of her office to find the number for the plumber.

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"Defense Exhibit C," Mrs. Sharp announced as she approached the witness stand. "Ms. Bowman, can you tell us what this is?"

Grace accepted a paper from Mrs. Sharp and looked it over: it was covered top to bottom in phone numbers. "I don't know," she said. "It looks like a list of phone numbers."

"Correct. This is a list of Mr. Volberg's cell phone records. Would you please turn the paper over and look at the highlighted section?"

As requested, Grace turned the page over. "Okay, but I'm not sure what this pro–"

"The dates. What is the first highlighted date?"

"February first."

Mrs. Sharp handed Grace several more papers and pointed to the one on top. "And the last date highlighted?"

"March seventh."

"Objection!"

Mrs. Sharp spun to face Ruben. "On what grounds?"

"I know where this is going, Your Honor, and these papers prove nothing!"

"I believe that's for the jury to decide, Mr. Enriquez. They certainly support our version of events more than your witness's."

"Enough!" Judge Rowlins barked. "Overruled."

Mrs. Sharp pointed to the highlighted sections of the phone records. "Please carefully review the highlights, Ms. Bowman, and if you find your cell phone or house number anywhere from the period of February first and March seventh, _please_ let us know."

Grace felt her hands crumpling around the edges of the papers as she drug her eyes through the highlights, knowing that she wasn't going to find her numbers. When she was done, she shook her head.

"Excuse me?" the defense attorney asked, her voice high pitched like the ting of a tin bell.

"No," Grace snarled. "I don't see my numbers."

"Thank you," Mrs. Sharp purred. She took the papers from Grace and dropped them into a plastic bag, then she handed her a new stack of papers. "Defense Exhibit D," she said. "The defendant's house phone records. Ms. Bowman, could you please state the first highlighted date…"

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

Ben was seated outside the butcher shop with the company's cordless phone in his lap. His eyes were on the purple van parked at the curb. The name on the van read: _Two Plumbs Up_. The words were centered between the up pointing thumbs of a man in a plumber's uniform that looked a bit like Santa Claus during the off season, complete with a utility belt containing plungers at his sides like guns from a Western.

The cartoonish character was styled after the owner of Two Plumbs Up, Craig Guthrie, who Ben had known since he was in pre-school. After a disastrous plumbing repair that had caused over a thousand dollars in additional damage, Leo had hired Craig to come in and fix what his first hires had made a mess of, and he'd been their go-to plumber for both professional and personal services ever since.

The door jingled, signaling Craig and Bunny's exit. "Welp," the plumber announced, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk between Bunny and Ben. "It looks like you've got yourselves a nasty clog in your sewer drain."

"But it's fixable, right?" Ben asked eagerly.

"Sure is, kiddo," Craig said, reaching out to ruffle Ben's hair as if he was still a six-year-old. "It's gonna be a lil' pricey, but I can work somethin' out with yer pop. Bad news is that I wouldn't advise ya stayin' open 'til we can get this here mess cleaned up."

Bunny grunted. "I'll let Mr. Boykewich know." She shot a look at Ben. "Has anyone called?"

"Just Mr. Fenric. He wanted to reschedule his meeting with me because he forgot he scheduled his colonoscopy for the same day."

Bunny shuddered. "Well, I guess today's your lucky day, you and everyone else will have to go home early." She eyed Craig. "Any guesses on when we might have this taken care of?"

"A day, maybe two?" Craig offered. "I won't be entirely sure 'til I get in there with m' snake."

Ben handed the cordless phone to Bunny and shook Craig's hand. "We appreciate it, Craig."

Craig wagged Ben's hand, nearly tearing his arm off. "Always a pleasure, sonny! Tell yer pop 'ello for me!"

Ben forced a smile and a polite nod. "See you, Craig. No offense, but hopefully not too soon."

Craig grabbed his bowl of a belly which shook like jelly and chortled. "None taken, sonny!"

Ben bid a goodbye to Bunny and headed out to his car, twirling his key ring on his index finger. He couldn't wait to get home, showered, and into clothes that didn't smell like a urinal. His father's business policy was to pay his employees if the business had to temporarily close and the reason for that wasn't their fault, which basically meant he was going to have at least a day and a half's paid vacation that he was excited to spend with his daughter and would even save him and Adrian some money in child care.

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"That was tedious and humiliating!" Grace ranted once the court had recessed for the evening. "Grant's cell phone, Grant's home phone, his parents' cell phones, and even Griffin's cell phone records!"

"That was the point," Ruben said dejectedly. "She's trying to distract the jury; bore them with the same useless facts time and again. They don't have much to go on, except to dispute your word."

"Those phone records don't prove anything," Grace continued angrily. "Would he really be stupid enough to call me from his own cell phone? And the number that did call my phone, can't that be traced somehow?"

"We've tried, but it belongs to a prepaid phone number. The minutes were registered to a false name."

"So use that! Show that to the jury!"

"We'll try. It can help to create reasonable doubt in the defense's case, but it can only go so far since we can't link the cell phone to Grant himself."

Grace sighed. "I don't understand," she said. "When I testified for you, I was only up there for a day. Why do I need to face his attorney again tomorrow?"

"The defense wants to try and poke as many holes in your story as they can,_ if_ they can. Keeping you up there flusters you and they're hoping that you'll slip up and give them an advantage. I'm sorry, Grace, I'm doing as much as I can, but legally, she has a right to a complete cross-examination."

"Complete," Grace scoffed. "More like corrupt! She's just as skeevy as her client!"

"She's skilled at what she does though."

"Have you prosecuted her clients before?"

"A few times. She's also gotten a few off. But Leandra usually doesn't work do small city work."

"Not surprising. I'm sure Vic hired her."

"How long do you think this will take?" Kathleen asked as they stepped outside.

"The trial?"

Kathleen nodded.

"I can't say," Ruben replied in earnest. "Maybe days, maybe weeks."

"With the way Grant's attorney seems to be going, I'm not holding my breath for days," Grace said.

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"You've been into the kitchen and back five times in the last thirty minutes," Ricky said when Heather returned from the kitchen. "Looking for something specific?"

"No," Heather huffed. She slouched onto the opposite end of the couch and tossed her stocking feet onto the cushion beside Ricky's. "Yes."

"What?"

"Salt."

"Cupboard."

Heather prodded him with her heel. "Salt_y_; I want something salt_y_."

"And there's absolutely nothing in the whole house that will satisfy you?"

"Nothing I don't have to work for. That skinless, boneless chicken Margaret made the other night was bomb, but you," she kicked him again, "ate the last piece for breakfast and now I have nothing to put the honey smoked barbeque sauce on. We've got pie and juice and fruit snacks and all sorts of sugary crap, but I just want something salty."

"Weren't you downing fruit snacks by the handful just yesterday?"

"That time of the month," Heather shrugged.

"Sorry?" Ricky puzzled.

"It's not all mood swings and horror movie blood spatter," Heather replied, rolling her eyes. "Well, it _is_," she joked, "but there are cravings too. I usually get alternating salty-sweet ones."

Ricky rolled his eyes and pushed Heather's legs off the edge of the cushions. "Come with me," he sighed dramatically.

Heather grumbled as she got up. "Don't pick on me, I don't feel good."

Ricky pointed to the table as they got into the kitchen. When she sat down he moved to the freezer and pulled out a frosty bag with French bread. Next he cracked the oven, turned it to broil, and spread out a sheet of foil on a metal cookie sheet before laying a fistful of slices out evenly. Ricky slid the tray under the stop sign colored glow of the broiler and then retrieved the olive oil mayonnaise, minced garlic, and mustard from the fridge.

"Okay, that looks like expired sunscreen with bits in it!" Heather cried as her friend began to mix up the ingredients. She made a sideway thumbs up and made the gagging motion into her mouth.

"Do you want to satisfy your salty craving or not?" he taunted. Ricky laughed at her unamused silence and retrieved the bread from the oven. He spread the mayo mixture onto the slices and then grabbed what was left of a small block of sharp cheddar cheese and grated it over the slices until they were as uniformly covered as they were going to get. With that, he slid the cookie sheet back into the cover and began to rinse off the grater. By the time he was done, sizzling sounds were coming from the oven and Ricky pulled out a tray of gooey, popping cheesy toast.

Heather's stomach growled audibly. "Okay, I'll bite," she said, rising and recovering two plates from the cupboard. She used a fork from the drainer to stab a slice and shake it onto each plate and then handed one to Ricky before adding a second slice to her plate. She blew on them as she returned to the table and hesitantly bit into the corner, surprised that it wasn't nearly as hot as she feared.

"Hm?" Ricky verbally nudged.

"Good," Heather said after she'd swallowed. "Where'd you learn to make these?"

"My mom."

"I'll be sure to give Margaret my thanks."

"No," Ricky said. "I mean Nora." He took his seat across from Heather. "We never had much in my house growing up, so sometimes she just had to throw together what was left in the fridge, even if it was just condiments, stale bread, and cheese."

"It hits the spot," Heather said, taking another bite.

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

A swizzle of steam escaped the bathroom as Ben emerged, his hair a spiky wet mess and a towel wrapped around his string bean torso. He headed into his bedroom and threw on a fresh pair of jeans and an aqua t-shirt that he'd laid out for himself before his shower, then he headed down the hallway to Mercy's room, where she was playing with Mr. Bear in her crib.

"Dada!"

"Hey," Ben crooned while he put down the crib bar. He scooped up his daughter and kissed her cheek, then he grabbed Mr. Bear and pressed the stuffed animal's face to her other cheek and mimicked a slurping kiss sound.

Mercy squealed and grabbed for Mr. Bear. Once he was in her grasp, she plastered a sloppy kiss to his nose.

"What?" Ben asked. "None for Daddy?"

Mercy raised her arms to Ben's face and the latter leaned in while she planted a wet kiss on his cheek.

"That's my girl," Ben laughed, wiping off the spit with the back of his hand. "Hey, I've got an idea!"

Mercy squeezed Mr. Bear around his stomach and looked at her father expectantly.

"Why don't we go surprise Mommy at work?"

"_¡Mamá!"_

"Yeah! We'll even get some ice cream too!" He kissed her cheek again.

Mercy giggled and held up Mr. Bear.

"Oh, _all right,_" Ben succumbed and kissed Mr. Bear as well.

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"Hey," Kathleen greeted, poking her head into her daughter's room. She found Grace on her bed, busily focused on her laptop screen. "Could you use a break?" She stepped inside, revealing a plate with a pyramid of brownies. "Fresh baked!"

"Scratch?"

Kathleen shook her head as she shut the door. "Box mix, I'm afraid."

Grace pushed aside her laptop to make room for her mother to sit down. "That's good too." She took the brownie off the top of the pile and bit into the warm, chewy center. She moaned a little as she wiped the crumbs from her lips.

Kathleen set the plate between them and took the next brownie in the stack. After she'd eaten a few bites her eyes wandered to the screen on her daughter's laptop. It was a news article about doctors. That was when she noticed her late husband's white lab coat draped across Grace's pillow. "Homework?" she asked casually, nodding in the direction of the laptop.

"It started out that way. I was looking something up for a biology assignment and then something I read sparked about something Adrian mentioned a while back."

"About?" Kathleen asked curiously.

"A class." Grace glanced at her laptop screen. "A class Jason was taking. I sorta got off track looking into it."

"What class is that?"

"It's called Advanced Training in First Aid."

"Grant offers that?" Kathleen asked with surprise. "They didn't have all those options when I was in school."

"Well I looked it up on the school website and it actually looks pretty interesting. No wonder Jason took it, for someone who wants to become a doctor, it's great to have in his repertoire."

"What about you?"

Grace sighed. "It has a prereq. You have to take either Basic Training in First Aid or if you've taken two semesters at the Young Healers Camp, they waive it."

"Oh."

Grace nodded and bit into her brownie again.

"Well, you could always take the Basic Training next year."

"Yeah," Grace nodded distantly.

Kathleen patted her daughter's knee. "I'm sure whatever you decide, you'll shine."

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"Thank you for coming in," Adrian said, while placing change and a receipt into her customer's hand. "We hope you'll 'scoop in' soon." She cringed inwardly at the store's awful attempt at a pun.

The woman pocketed her receipt and began to turn away, then she quickly turned back. "Hey, you shortchanged me!"

"Excuse me?"

"I gave you a twenty!"

Adrian felt her head begin moving side to side before her lips could form words. "No, you gave me a ten."

"I gave you a twenty!"

"No, you didn't! I distinctly remember handing you a twenty!"

Adrian grit her teeth and opened her cash drawer. She pulled off the top ten dollar bill and held it up. "You handed me this exact bill."

"I want to speak with your manager!"

Amy came flying out of the backroom and took a stance behind Adrian. "Is there a problem here?"

"Are you the manager?"

"No, he's left for the day."

"Then I want his name and phone number!"

Adrian side eyed Amy and shook her head.

Amy smiled tersely. "Just a moment."

Adrian whirled around as Amy turned towards the backroom and mouthed, 'I didn't do anything wrong.'

Amy nodded and disappeared into the back. A moment later she returned, scribbling onto a sticky note Stanley's name and the store phone number. "We're sorry for the inconvenience," she said, handing the woman the purple sticky.

"I bet you are!" the woman shouted before storming out of The Scoop.

Adrian felt her cheeks burn as several other customers turned their eyes from the infuriated woman to Adrian.

"I can take the last few customers if you want," Amy offered quietly.

Adrian threw up her hands and darted into the backroom. Her stomach was clotting at the thought of the woman following through on her threat to call Stanley and as big a scene as she'd made, she feared the woman just might do it. She headed to the manager's office, where the security cameras were, but the door was shut and locked. Angrily, she punched the wood and immediately rubbed her sore knuckles before falling back against the door and sliding to the floor.

"Adrian?" Amy's voice called several minutes later.

Adrian didn't answer. She waited until she heard Amy's footsteps grow close and only looked up when she felt Amy sit down beside her. "I gave her the correct change," she insisted.

"Some people try to rip you off like that. When I was little, sometimes Ashley and I would hang out at my dad's furniture store. He always taught us that you should leave the customer's cash on the counter as you count their change, that way they can't try to claim you shortchanged them because the last thing you do is put their bill in the drawer."

"Do you think she'll actually call Stanley?"

Amy shrugged. "Hard to say. If she really believes you did it – or if she'd desperate enough to make a buck – she might. But if she was trying to con you, then she might not have the guts to follow through with it."

Adrian cursed under her breath.

"Why don't you take five?"

"I took my break earlier."

Amy shrugged. "Who's going to know? Stanley left early, so it's just us."

Adrian nodded. "Thanks."

"No need."

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"You okay?" Ricky asked, having discovered Heather curled up on the couch in a fetal position.

"Nmmp," Heather replied, her voice muffled by the pillows her face was buried in.

Ricky leaned over her crumpled form and pushed her red hair away from her face. "What are you doing?"

"Dying," Heather replied. She pulled her knees up tighter to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. "I shouldn't have eaten that last cheesy toast."

"Do you need some Pepto?"

Heather shook her head. "Not gonna help, Underwood."

Ricky noted the wet splotches on Heather's face. "Are you—crying?"

"No, I'm perspiring from my eyes," Heather snapped. She turned herself over. "It's called cramps, you big dumbo! And I already took Midol."

"What can I do?"

"If I rub your bottle, do I get three wishes? Because wish _numero uno_: men should get the joys of PMS too."

"Sorry, I just ran out of wishes."

"Well there goes all my hopes for _I Dream of Ricky_." Heather's face contorted until it was so wrinkled it looked like a third degree burn and lasted that way for well over a minute. When it began to ease up and look like Heather again, she eased her arm away from her stomach. "You could help me up to the bathroom. Sometimes a hot bath helps."

"Is it the heat or the water?"

"Heat. Why?"

"What about a heating pad?"

Heather scowled. "I've been living here how long and nobody bothered to tell me there was a heating pad? What kind of family is thi—ooogh!" She pressed her hand back to her abdomen and held it there until the pain subsided.

Ricky grimaced, feeling guilty that there wasn't more he could do.

"Well what are you waiting for?" Heather asked when she could speak again. "Heating pad! Now!"

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"You wanna ring the bell?" Ben asked. He picked up the bell on the counter and guided Mercy's hand to it. Together, they shook the bell. Mercy began to laugh and she pump her little arm back and forth until Ben feared the bell might break and was forced to pry his daughter's hands off the object. From the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of orange, green, and yellow emerge from the backroom and looked up expecting to see his girlfriend. Instead, he saw his ex. Ben blinked once, then twice. "Amy?" He did a double take of her outfit, which was identical to Adrian's Scoop uniform. "What's going on here? Do you…do you _work_ here?"

Amy flushed. "Yes?"

Ben shook his head. "But – you never said – I don't understand, why didn't Adrian tell me? Why didn't _you_ tell me?"

Amy pushed out from behind the counter and motioned to a nearby empty table, which had yet to be wiped down from the last messy patrons. She sat across from Ben, twiddling her thumbs. "I asked Adrian not to say anything."

"Why?"

"I was embarrassed." Amy stood up and motioned to her clothes. "Does this look like something to be proud of?"

"I might be a little bias because it's half the reason Adrian and I stay afloat, but yes, you should be proud: you're earning your own money, aren't you?"

"Working a crappy job, in crappy clothes, for a crappy boss…and only because my mom doesn't make enough working her own crappy job."

"It's honest though."

Amy smiled. "You're such an optimist, Ben."

"So…is this the reason we stopped hanging out?"

"Yeah," she replied guiltily. "I was never mad at you, I just didn't want to have to explain."

"I would've understood."

"That doesn't make it any less humiliating."

Ben nodded. "Understood."

"Oh!" Amy shouted. She lunged forward and grabbed Mercy's hand, stopping the toddler from sticking a burgundy wad into her mouth.

"What the…" Ben grabbed a napkin and peeled open Mercy's hand, revealing a piece of chewed gum. "Oh, Merce!"

"She probably got it from under the table. Maybe even _on_ the table knowing the customers we get. I'm sorry."

"Sorry? You just stopped my daughter from plopping that into her mouth and contracting who knows what from it. Or choking on it." Ben pushed up from the table and tossed the napkin wrapped gum wad into the trash. "Thank you!"

Amy bowed her head. "All in a day's work."

"_¿Mamá?"_

Ben thumped his head with his palm. "Right! Where is Adrian?"

"Right, of course," Amy said, shaking her head. "Sit tight, I'll go get her."

Ben wandered over to the freezers and began to examine the ice cream cakes as he waited. Less than a minute later, Mercy began to bounce in his arms.

"_¡Mamá!"_

"_¡__Preciosista!"_

"You're like her catchphrase," Ben laughed.

Adrian punched his arm as she took their daughter and nuzzled her face. "What are you two doing here?"

"Long story," Ben dismissed. "I'll tell you when you're off. But we wanted to surprise you."

Adrian kissed both of Mercy's cheeks and then she kissed Ben on the mouth. "This is the best surprise I could've had today."

"Tough day?"

Adrian rested her head against Ben's chest while Mercy played with her hair. "Long story," she groaned. "I'll tell you when I'm off."

Ben rested his chin on the top of Adrian's head. "Looking forward to it."

Mercy sputtered and clapped her hands together gleefully.

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

Grace fingered the hem of her black skirt. For the third day in a row, she was perched on the unrelenting wooden chair of the witness stand, beside a stoic judge and jury, as Grant's defense attorney pranced in front of her. Although the words were coming out of Leandra Sharp's mouth, the way they entered Grace's ears were muffled, as if she were submerged in a pool. Suddenly Grace became aware that the woman was staring at her with her answer awaiting expression. "I – uh – can you repeat the question?" she stumbled.

"I said," Mrs. Sharp spoke as she encroached upon the witness stand, "'Can you please tell us the results of your rape kit?'"

"You already know the answer to that."

"A 'yes' or 'no,' please, Ms. Bowman."

"No." Grace snapped.

"Why is that?" Mrs. Sharp persisted. "And please, no roundabout answers."

"There isn't one."

Mrs. Sharp moved to the jury box and laid her hands along the edge. "There are no rape kit results because there was no rape kit," she said, almost singsonging the words. "Isn't that because there was no rape, Ms. Bowman?"

"No! That's not true! He raped me!"

Mrs. Sharp stalked up to the witness box and filled Grace's line of sight with her physical presence. "How many days after you had sex did you run away from home?"

"I ran away from _him_," Grace said, pointing to the defense table, "seven days after he raped me!"

"And did you leave your house at all for the first six days?"

"No."

Mrs. Sharp looked at the jury. "Ms. Bowman, when do you believe life begins?"

"Objection!"

"Her religion guides her life, Your Honor. The witness has already testified to that."

"Overruled."

"When does life begin?" Mrs. Sharp repeated.

Grace grit her teeth. "At conception."

"So you didn't leave your house for six days. You didn't happen to take a Morning After Pill within those first three days, did you?"

"What do you think?"

"Your Honor!"

"Answer the question, Miss Bowman."

"No! Of course I didn't! I barely moved from my bed for six days!"

"So let's try this on for size: you have premarital sex, you regret having premarital sex because you believe you've sinned in the eyes of the Lord, you miss your period, and then you run away for two months and come back with this outlandish story of rape to explain your underage, out-of-wedlock pregnancy!"

"That's a lie!" Grace shouted. "Stop it! Just stop it! I didn't even know I was pregnant when I left, that was the furthest thing from my mind! All I could think about was getting away from _him_!"

"You wanted to get away from him so badly that you couldn't bear to have him locked up in a jail cell? That wasn't enough distance for you for _over two months_?"

"Objection! The witness has already testified as to why she did not report the rape. Repeatedly! At this point, the defense is guilty of badgering."

"Sustained. Move on, Mrs. Sharp."

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"What are you doing?"

Adrian slapped her hand to her throat and jumped.

"Sorry, wasn't trying to sneak up on you," Amy apologized.

Adrian shook her head and extended a finger towards the television screen on the top shelf of Stanley's open office: the screen was broken up into four squares, revealing the footage of four different cameras. Adrian's eyes were on the one in the upper right corner, located on the cash register. "I was trying to see if the bills are visible from that camera."

"Stanley hasn't said anything?"

"Not yet, but that doesn't mean anything. It's been less than twenty-four hours and you know how he is about being on top of anything."

Amy nodded. "Any luck?"

Adrian shook her head. "Too far away."

"And unlike _CSI_, you can't zoom in and get a perfect image."

"Hey! What are you two doing back here, there's a line of customers out front and they aren't going to stand there all day!"

Adrian cursed under her breath as she moved past Stanley.

"It's not like he could possibly wait on anyone," Amy whispered.

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"The witness may step down."

Grace ran her fingers across her sweat beaded neck as she climbed out of the witness box and hurried over to take a seat beside her mother. She felt Kathleen take her hand and squeeze it, but Grace was too exhausted to squeeze back, so she rested her perspiring cheek against her mother's arm. From the row behind her, she felt Heather's hand pat her shoulder, but she didn't turn around to acknowledge the gesture.

Ruben stood as members of his team carried bags in varying sizes down the aisle and set them on his table. He turned to the judge. "Prosecution Exhibits G and H, Your Honor."

Mrs. Sharp shared a look with Grant and pushed up from her seat. "Objection, Your Honor."

"On what grounds?"

"Contaminated evidence."

Ruben shot a scornful look in the defense attorney's direction. "Contaminated with your client's fluids."

"Mr. Enriquez!" Judge Rowlins snapped.

"I apologize, Your Honor, but the defense can't possibly think that Miss Bowman's clothes and bed sheets should be suppressed, they're vital,_ valid_ evidence."

"They were stored in _trash bags_ and hauled around San Francisco in the back of a car for two months, Your Honor. Who knows what happened to the 'evidence' in the interim!"

"The trash bags were brand new!" Ruben rebutted. "Miss Bowman stored them to preserve evidence."

"Preserve evidence? You mean as she thought out her vile claims against my client instead of calling the authorities when the alleged 'crime' took place and allowing them to keep the chain of so-called evidence intact?"

"Enough!" Judge Rowlins barked. "Counselors, approach!"

Grace looked between the whispering group at the front of the courthouse and her mother. She suddenly found herself sweating more in that moment than she had during her last two days under cross-examination. Her stomach began to knot until she felt like she was having cramps when Mrs. Sharp and Ruben finally returned to their seats.

"I will review the evidence and have a decision when this court reconvenes tomorrow at three o' clock." The judge banged his gavel and retreated into his chambers.

Grace nearly toppled Ruben as he pushed out of the gate. Her eyes were swollen and she kept shaking her head. "Tell me they can't do it!" she whispered.

Ruben glanced back at Mrs. Sharp, who was in a hushed conversation with Grant. When he turned back, Heather and Ricky were on either side of Grace and the three teenagers' parents weren't far behind. "Why don't we find a quieter place to talk?"

"I wanna kill 'im!" Heather snarled under her breath.

Ricky draped an arm around Heather's shoulders. "Calm down."

"Don't you?"

"Yeah," he whispered. "But not in front of Grace."

Heather guiltily let her first unfurl.

"We should let them talk in private."

Heather nodded, but not before giving Grace a fierce hug. "You're gonna beat the bastard."

Grace squeezed Heather in return, but despite the redhead's words of encouragement, her stomach felt like it was filled with lead. "I – I'll fill you all in later."

Ricky nodded.

"I don't understand," Heather spat out once Grace, Kathleen, and Ruben were out of earshot. "If someone gets murdered and they find the body out in the elements months later, that's a crime scene and they can still collect evidence, so why can't they use the stuff Grace actually saved?"

"Because she just might win."

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

Ben toured into the kitchen the next morning, following the smell of sizzling sunny side up eggs. He peered over Adrian's shoulder as she shook the handle of the pan and kissed her cheek. "Smells good," he whispered, covering the mouthpiece of his cell phone.

"You smell good," Adrian returned, sniffing Ben's freshly washed hair.

"Don't turn me on before school."

Adrian shrugged. "You made your bed, now lie in it."

"If you don't be careful, I'll have you lying in it with me."

"You already have."

Ben moved the hair away from Adrian's neck and gave it a gentle kiss. "Yeah," he agreed. "I have."

"_¡Vos! ¡Vos!"_ Mercy chanted from her highchair.

"_Huevos,"_ Adrian corrected with a wink. She turned the dial on the oven down and moved the pan to a cold burner, then she began to divide the eggs among two places and one of Mercy's miniature plastic plates with a picture of Dora and Diego in the middle.

Suddenly a high pitched noise came from the speaker on the cell phone and Ben quickly turned away. "Yeah, sorry Bunny, I'm still here! I was, uh, just trying to get…breakfast."

Adrian rolled her eyes as she cut up Mercy's egg and then sat down in front of her daughter and blew on the breakfast until it was suitably cooled to feed to the toddler. She used a plastic fork to give the little girl a small bite at first and when Mercy appeared excited for more, she picked up the pace.

A few minutes later Ben set his phone down on the counter and picked up one of the plates Adrian had set aside and took a large bite. He added a little more salt and then sat down beside his girlfriend and stabbed a large piece of egg, fork feeding her the same way she was feeding their daughter.

Adrian made a face as she swallowed.

"What?"

"Too salty."

"No, you just put too much pepper on it."

"I did not."

"Did too."

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"_¡Vos!"_

"_Huevos."_ Adrian slid another forkful into Mercy's mouth. "So what did Bunny have to say?"

"Craig's still working on the clog, so I'm supposed to check back at lunch for a progress report. My bet is that I won't have to go into today, but I don't know, she's still threatening that we might be able to open for half the day."

"She likes to rile you up."

"I know, just like all the women in my life." Ben piled the rest of his breakfast into his mouth and rinsed off his plate as his girlfriend finished feeding their daughter. His phone buzzed from the counter and he picked it up without looking at the caller I.D.

Adrian wiped Mercy's eggy lips with a napkin, untied her bib, and scooped the little girl out of the highchair.

Mercy reached to touch the scab on Adrian's earlobe from where she'd ripped her earring ten days prior.

Adrian pushed the little girl's grabby hand down and set her into her playpen. She handed Mercy Mr. Bear and then returned to the kitchen to wipe down the highchair tray, but didn't get a chance when she noticed Ben was in exactly the same stance he'd been in when she left. "Ben?" She rounded him, and although she was looking right at him, he seemed to be looking through her. "Ben?"

The cell phone fell from Ben's hand and hit the counter. A crack appeared in the screen, but it didn't seem to drop the call as the light was still on and the timer was still counting the call minutes.

Adrian grabbed the phone. "Hello? Bunny?"

"Adrian?"

"Camille?" Adrian looked down at the caller I.D. and indeed it was Camille's cell number.

"Where is Ben?"

"He's right here," Adrian said. "But he's not talking to me. What did you say to him?" There was silence. "Camille!"

"Adrian, Leo's in the hospital."


	11. The Games They Play

**A/N: **Hello, readers! I hope you're all enjoying summer more than I am. Freaking 106 the other day. Why can't I have a waterproof laptop so I can write in the pool? :P

_**Turning Tables**_

**The Games They Play**

Even in the middle of the morning, the room was dark. It smelt like rubbing alcohol when he entered and the shadows grew up from the floor like black flames. In the center of the room was his dad, lying unconscious on the hospital bed, with a tube wedged down his throat and an oxygen mask taped to his nose. The place on Leo's lip where the tube was sitting was raw and bloodied and on his chest a piece of medical tape secured a patch of gauze to some kind of wound. The gauze was nearly black and a pool of blood the size of a quarter lingered beneath the tape.

Ben cupped his hands to his mouth. From the corner of his eye, he could see Adrian's hand on his shoulder, but he was too numb to feel the warmth of her touch. His eyes flicked up to Camille's face; she stood on the other side of the bed, her hand resting upon one of Leo's limp hands, the one with an IV attachment. "What – wha – wh –"

Adrian nudged him forward. "Go to him."

Ben stumbled to the edge of the hospital bed and grasped the railing for balance. His legs felt dense and heavy, like towering blocks of cheese. He wished they'd melt, collapsing him with them so that he wouldn't have to look at the sight in the bed. The numbness, like the feeling just before pins-and-needles, crawled up to his chest. He fumbled his hands over the railing to touch his father's hand; it was cool and the flesh felt more like rubber than skin.

The door opened and closed, but no one turned around. "Mrs. Boykewich?"

Camille quickly retracted her hand from Leo's and shook her head. "No, no, I'm his assistant." She motioned to Ben. "This is Leo's son, Ben."

Adrian offered her hand when Ben made no move to turn around and acknowledge the doctor. "And I'm Adrian."

"Drey March," the doctor introduced himself, shaking the teenager's hand. "Are you family?"

"I–" Adrian looked at Ben. "Ben and I have a daughter."

"I see. Well, I'm supposed to discuss Mr. Boykewich's health with his immediate family–"

"His wife passed several years ago and Ben is seventeen," Camille explained. She reached into her purse and retrieved a triple folded, stapled document. "I have power of attorney and legal guardianship of Ben." She handed the documents to Dr. March and waited quietly as he reviewed them.

"All right." The doctor turned his eyes to Adrian.

Camille looked between Adrian and Ben. "She can stay."

"Leo's suffered a double heart attack…"

Ben felt more tears pan down his cheeks as he moved his head to look at his father's barrel-like chest, which was covered in a thin, fibery blue blanket. He had the urge to press his hand to Leo's chest to make sure it was actually beating, despite the methodic beep of the heart rate monitor, but his hands felt like anchors.

"…medically induced coma…"

His ears began to buzz as if his finger had been slammed in a car door. A palpitating pain began to hum through every pore. Dr. March's voice gave way to the overwhelming hiss in his head, like a thriving wasps' nest had been swapped for his brain, and soon the few surviving colors in the room began to fold into the licking shadows.

"Ben!"

Ben felt the palms of his hands scrape the railing as they drew back and a rush of phlegm scented air curled around his neck while gravity wrapped her arms around him, dragging him to the waxed floor.

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"I must be hallucinating, because you are not doing a load of laundry before school."

Heather grabbed the opened bottle of laundry detergent and threatened to douse Ricky with it until she had him pinned against the wall, then she screwed the cap back on and slid it onto the shelf beside the dryer sheets. "They're sheets, wiseass. PMS related hazard. Honestly, I can't wait for menopause."

"You couldn't have waited until after school? We're gonna be late!"

"The stains would've set by then."

"Oh."

Heather thunked Ricky against the back of the head as she shut the laundry room door. "I suppose you still wash your whites and colors together too."

"I'm not a Neanderthal."

Heather hunched over and began to labor down the hallway, swinging her arms exaggeratedly. "Me. Ricky. Me. Not. Know. Stains."

Ricky chased Heather up to the front door and gave her a noogie until she gutted his stomach with her elbow. "Truce!"

"I knew I could make you say uncle."

Ricky picked up both their backpacks and tossed Heather's to her. "Shove it, Red."

Heather followed him out the front door. "That's how I lost my virginity."

"Oh!" Ricky covered his ears.

Heather rounded Ricky's car and punched the air with her fist in front of the window.

Ricky climbed into the driver's seat and shook his head, trying not to look at the lewd expressions Heather was making. "You're worse than I ever was and that's saying something."

"We were destined to live together, weren't we?"

"Unfortunately."

Heather punched Ricky's thigh as he revved the engine.

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"Were you thinking about signing up for next year?" Mr. Molina asked.

Grace nodded, but her eyes were on the small blurb about the Basic Training in First Aid course in the pamphlet he'd given her. "I was initially looking into the advanced class, I didn't realize it had a prerequisite."

Mr. Molina clicked the end of his pen a few times, his face slightly glazed, then he set his pen down and spun his chair around to face his computer. After a few minutes of typing, interspersed with the occasional click of his mouse, he whirled back to Grace. As he opened his mouth to speak, his printer began to whirr. "There may be one other option."

Grace raised her eyebrow. "For?"

"For taking the advanced course." He swiped the freshly printed page from his printer tray and offered it to the blonde. "I'd love to go over this right now," he pointed to the clock, "but you have class and I have a meeting with a parent in five minutes."

Grace accepted the printout. "I'd offer to come after school, but –"

Mr. Molina inclined his head. "I'm afraid I'm already booked at lunch, but we can schedule something for…" He made a few clicks on his computer screen. "Tomorrow morning?"

"Sounds great."

The counselor typed Grace's name into his schedule and saved it. "Bright and early then."

"Thank you," Grace said, offering her hand.

"It's what I'm here for."

Grace hurried out of the office, worming her way through the hallway in the direction of her first course. All the while she was itching to see what Mr. Molina had printed out for her, but she kept her eyes focused on where she was going until she got there. As soon as she sat down, the bell rang, as though it had been waiting for her, and as the class settled, she looked down at the printout: _GVCC for High School!_

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"Ben?"

Adrian's voice sounded like an echo in the Grand Canyon. Ben was positive of this because he'd been there once on a family vacation, before his mother had passed. The thought of Sarah sent a fissure through his chest and Ben compliantly crumbled up and rolled away from the direction his girlfriend's voice was coming from.

"Ben, wake up," Adrian said. Her hands massaged his arm and the ends of her hair tickled the back of his neck.

Ben finally opened his eyes. At first everything was still black and he momentarily wondered if he was blind, then the black faded into fuzzy moving colors, like a camera zoomed in on a pile of wriggling caterpillars. Eventually he could make out the shape of a turkey. No, not a turkey, a hand; it was waving in front of his face. He blinked several times until the fuzz fell away from his vision and he could make out Adrian's hand. He gave in and rolled over, bumping his forehead into her nose.

Adrian yelped and jumped back, holding her face and hissing.

"Sorry," Ben said. His words felt slow coming out of his mouth, like molasses.

Adrian shook her head and glanced down at her hands. She grabbed a tissue from a box and wiped the inside of her nostrils. "No blood, you're good."

"Where am I?"

"You're in the hospital," said a new voice. Camille's. "You fainted. Do you remember what happened?"

Ben shut his eyes again. Suddenly everything came flooding back from the moments before he'd hit the floor: his dad in the hospital bed, numbness, Dr. March's voice. Water sprang to Ben's eyes and he nodded. "Where's my–"

"Right over there," Camille cut in. She rested her hand on Ben's shoulder and used her other hand to point.

Ben realized he was lying on a kind of window seating area that doubled as a makeshift bed for overnight visitors. He started to sit up but his head swam, forcing him back down.

Adrian sat down at his feet. "Take it easy, Ben."

Ben shook his head. "He's going to be all right, isn't he?"

Adrian and Camille shared washy looks.

"We don't know," Camille admitted. "He had two heart attacks, Ben. They're keeping him in a coma for a week while he recovers from them."

"They're keeping him in a coma? What?"

"With drugs," Adrian explained. "It's for his own good. When they wear off, he should wake up within a few days."

"And he'll be fine?"

Camille hung her head. "It's too soon to tell."

Ben pushed up and his head began to vibrate, but he ignored it. "Then what are we paying these doctors for?" He waved his hand theatrically. "What good are they if they can't even help my dad?!"

Camille stood up and looked helplessly in Leo's direction. "I'm going to go get a drink, do you need anything?"

"I need my dad!"

"I'm fine, thanks," Adrian said, ignoring Ben's ravings. She waited for Camille to leave and then she grabbed Ben by the wrists. "You need to calm. Down."

"How am I supposed to calm down when my dad's going to be in a coma for a week and they can't even promise he'll wake up, huh Adrian? How? That's my dad! That's. My. Dad! They already took my mom!" Ben fought his hands out of Adrian's grasp and stumbled onto his feet. He looked around blearily, his eyes two dams ready to burst, and kicked at the nearest thing he could find: a garbage can. The bin crashed against the wall and the contents spewed onto the waxed floor. Ben stumbled forward to the bed and slapped his hands onto the railing. "You – you – you bastard! Adrian and Mercy and I were happy and you just couldn't stand it so you went and did this!"

Adrian grabbed for Ben's shoulders, but was surprised when he forcefully shoved her away. She threw up her hands in defense.

Ben gripped the bed railing and leaned over it. His tears splattered onto Leo's face and the front of his hospital gown before disappearing into the fabric. "I – I hate you! You hear me?!" Ben grabbed Leo's chin and turned his head so that he could lean in so far that his face touched his father's. "Do you hear me?! I_ hate_ you!"

The door opened and Dr. March walked in, stopped, and began to call out the door. Within moments he'd summoned two other people who forcibly ushered Ben past Adrian and out of the hospital room, leaving Dr. March alone with Adrian. "I'm sorry, I know he's family, but we can't have him in here unless he can control himself."

Adrian pinched the bridge of her nose. "I know," she breathed. "Just – just tell me where they're taking him."

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"…they offer a dual credit program," Grace spoke into her cell phone. She was seated outside at one of the lunch tables, peeling an orange.

"It's only for high school students?" Kathleen's voice asked.

"Yeah, it's kind of like summer school, but not. I was thinking I could take the prerequisite course this summer. I mean…if we could afford it. Part of the dual credit program is that the classes are discounted for high school students."

"We can certainly look into it, Gracie."

"You don't sound very enthusiastic."

"No, no, that's not it at all. It's just…there are a lot more expenses these days than there used to be. Your dad's life insurance has kept us pretty secure, but–"

"Buying me my car and the pregnancy," Grace cut in disappointedly.

"And Christian's NICU bills…"

Grace crunched the phone between her cheek and her shoulder as she nodded, even though the gesture didn't benefit anyway. "I understand."

"We'll see what we can do," Kathleen promised.

"Yeah, thanks Mom." Grace pulled off an orange slice. "Uh, I gotta eat, talk to you later." She hung up before her mother could wish her a goodbye and tossed her cell into her purse. She'd just wedged the orange slice into her mouth when a cafeteria tray plopped down beside her and made her jump.

"Sorry," Jason said.

Grace quickly chewed and swallowed. "Jason?" she asked and felt a little dribble of orange juice slip down the corner of her mouth. Embarrassed, she wiped it away with her knuckle. Her eyes shifted to the table where several of the football players were seated.

"I was just wondering if you happened to know where Adrian is?"

Grace shook her head. "No, I haven't heard from her today, but we don't have any classes together, so that's not surprising. Why?"

"Well we do and that's why I was wondering. We were supposed to give a presentation today and she's not here. I tried to get a hold of her, but her phone keeps going to voicemail. Oddly, I haven't seen Ben either, so I was a little worried and thought you might know."

Grace looked around and spotted Alice and Henry cuddling at one of the far tables. "I've been a little distracted today, but I can try to find out." She pulled out her cell phone again and dialed Adrian's number, but as Jason had said, it went straight to voicemail. When she tried Ben's, it rang until it also went to voicemail. With a frown, Grace stood up. "Be right back. Alice, Henry!"

Henry harrumphed and cleared his throat, pulling away from Alice as Grace approached. "Uh, hey, Grace, what's up?"

"Have either of you heard from Ben?"

"He wasn't in class today and I didn't see Adrian either, so I figured they were just playing hooky. You know, with him having the day off because of the plumbing thing at the butcher shop."

The blonde pointed back to her table where Jason was seated. "I don't know, Jason said he and Adrian had something due and that she just never showed up without even dropping him a line to let him know. That's not like her."

The smile fell from Alice's face as she pulled out her cell phone.

Grace shook her head. "I already tried that, neither are answering."

Henry shook his head. "I'm not sure who else to try then 'cause his dad's out."

"Cindy," Grace said, her hand already on the keypad. She dialed and waited impatiently until she got Cindy's voicemail. "Ms. Lee, it's Grace. Adrian and Ben didn't show up for school today and nobody can seem to get in contact with them. We just wanted to make sure everything's all right. Please give me a call back, thank you." She shut her phone and shook her head. "I'm out of ideas."

"If we haven't heard anything by the end of school, Hank and I will stop over at the condo."

Grace nodded. "Thanks." She ran her thumb across the screen of her phone as she returned to Jason, shaking her head. "Nobody seems to know anything…that worries me."

Jason frowned. "I never meant to set a panic in motion."

Grace shook her head. "Maybe it's a good thing you did. Look at all that's happened to us in the past few years. I don't know if I can take much more. I pray they're just taking the day off."

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"…sorry, not this weekend, I'm all booked up."

"Doing?"

"Not Lisa."

Ricky elbowed Heather in the lower arm.

"Yet."

Ricky groaned.

"Is that your plan?" Ashley asked with a wry smile.

"Actually, my plans do involve Lisa…and the rest of the GSA. We're having a movie night. It's a kind of solidarity thing. I'm sure nobody would mind if you two wanted to crash."

"Thanks, but no thanks."

"He's got a date," Ashley taunted.

"It's not a date."

"Peaches?"

"_Clementine."_

"Oooh, defensive about the name," Heather mused. "That must mean things are still progressing." She halted at a closed classroom door and turned the handle.

Ricky leaned forward as the door opened, his mouth slightly opened at the sight before him.

"The GSA hasn't held a wrestling match recently, have they?"

"That's not funny, Ash."

"Sorry," Ashley replied sincerely.

"You two stay here," Heather growled. "I'm going to find someone so we can report this shit!"

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

Adrian weaved in between parked cars until she got to the edge of the parking lot where her boyfriend was slumped over on a cement curb. She took a seat beside them and let the heat from the cement burn through the thighs of her jeans.

"How could this have happened?" Ben eventually asked, his voice hoarse.

Adrian balanced her elbows on her knees and her chin in her palms. "I'm not a doctor, but everyone's been under a lot of stress the past several months."

"So this is my fault?"

"Did I say it was?" she returned sharply. "Did I say anything even _remotely_ like that?"

Ben bowed his head. "No…but I know it is. If I hadn't moved out–"

"It might've happened anyway."

"You don't know that."

"Neither do you."

"I already lost my mom," Ben whispered.

"I know."

"In this _same_ hospital. This place holds nothing but bad memories!"

"Our daughter was born here. Is she a bad memory?"

Ben scrubbed his cheeks with the backs of his hands. "Not Mercy. But you being taken here for your wounds after Bob abducted you? And then getting rushed here that night you went into premature labor? And everything with Grace and Christian? And now my dad. God, I hate this place!"

Adrian scooted closer to her boyfriend and touched his knee. "Just promise me that when this is all over, you and your dad are going to make up. Forget the pride, Ben. This is so much bigger than that! You two need each other. And Mercy needs her _nonno_."

Ben wiped his face again and traced the back of Adrian's hand with his fingers. "Do you think they'll let me back in there?"

"They'll have to deal with me if they don't."

Ben smiled weakly.

Adrian stood and offered her hand._ "Venir."_

Ben placed his quivering hand into hers and allowed her to pull him to his feet. His legs wavered as he walked, but he felt Adrian's arm encircle him and her head lean into his shoulder. He rested his head on hers as they walked back into the hospital.

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"After considerable deliberation on the issue, I cannot, in good conscience, allow the bedding or clothing–"

"But Your Honor–"

"I've made my ruling, counselor," Judge Rowlins scolded. "The bedding and clothing are _out_."

The back of Grace's throat began to swell up until she couldn't breathe. She grasped her neck, coughed several times, and then fled the courtroom with her black skirt flapping behind her. Once outside the doors, she ran down the hall to the restrooms and found the drinking fountain, where she began to gulp down the cold water until her teeth hurt, then she splashed her face and neck several times.

"Grace?"

The blonde turned at the sound of Ricky's voice. The fountain droplets on her face were indistinguishable from her tears. She suddenly threw herself against Ricky's chest and clung him, no longer able to balance herself on her own two feet.

Ricky wound his arms around Grace's back and supported her weight while her tears soaked his shirt.

"It's not fair," she said into the fabric of his t-shirt. "How can they do this? Can they really get away with this? How? How?!"

Ricky shook his head. "When my dad was on trial, his defense got away with a lot of shitty things too."

"But you still put him away in the end."

Ricky nodded.

"I don't know how we can do that without physical evidence." She balled his shirt up in her fists. "I shouldn't have left, I shouldn't have delayed: I should've come forward when it happened!"

Ricky shook his head. "There's no room for 'should've' and 'could've,' Grace. You did what you had to do at the time."

"But he's going to get away with this!"

"You don't know that."

Grace pulled away from her friend. "I know you're trying to help, but don't say that. Don't give me false hope. You were raped too, Ricky. If Bob had got off and raped someone else, you'd feel responsible too."

"Yeah," he agreed. "But it wouldn't have been my fault. I would have exhausted all efforts."

"Well, I _didn't_ exhaust all efforts, I waited, and if I hadn't been pregnant, I don't know if I ever would've come forward. And don't give me that 'it's not your fault' song and dance either. We both know feelings are rarely logical."

Ricky bowed his head, conceding. "But on that point, you never know what a jury might feel. That's why they exist, because the law doesn't care about feelings."

"And if they feel like I'm out to paint a 'good guy' as a monster, then what?"

"I can't answer that."

Grace shook her head. "I feel sick."

Ricky looked down the hall, where Kathleen was waiting for him to finish his conversation with Grace so she could approach. "I think your mom wants to talk to you."

Grace pushed open the bathroom door. "I'll talk to her when I get out."

Ricky nodded as the door swung shut behind his friend.

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

"I got you a sandwich from the cafeteria," Adrian said as she stepped into the hospital room.

Ben looked up from the chair he'd pulled alongside his father's bed. "You shouldn't have spent the money."

Adrian's face soured. "Don't make me regret being nice."

Ben accepted the Styrofoam box and pushed back the flap to reveal a turkey burger and fries, with a couple ketchup and salt packets. He squeezed a few of the ketchup packets onto a corner of the to-go box and swirled two fries in it, then handed one to Adrian.

Adrian thanked him with a smile and ate the fry. She watched him carefully, then took another fry and dipped it into the ketchup. "Eat the burger, that's got the veggies on it."

"Ketchup's made from tomatoes."

"Which are a fruit."

"Know-it-all."

"And yet you love me."

Ben bit into his burger and nodded.

Adrian picked up the to-go box from Ben's lap and took its place. She continued to eat fries until Ben shoved the turkey burger in front of her, half eaten. "I bought it for you."

"And now I'm telling you it's your turn to eat your veggies."

Adrian accepted the burger with a soft grump and took a bite, then she kissed Ben, almost timidly.

Ben stroked Adrian's hair and returned the kiss, much to her relief.

"What if he wakes up to this?" Adrian laughed.

Ben's somber expression returned. "He won't wake up while they're pumping him full of drugs."

Adrian set the burger in the box, closed it, and dropped the box to the floor beside the chair. "We're going to be here when he wakes up, Ben."

"If," Ben murmured. "_If_ he wakes up."


End file.
